


Beauty Is the Beast

by lunaverserocks



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Badass Katara (Avatar), Beauty and the Beast Elements, Crazy Azula (Avatar), F/M, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole, Slow Burn Katara/Zuko (Avatar), Stubborn Katara (Avatar), Zhao (Avatar) Is An Asshole, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-02-29 23:33:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18788515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunaverserocks/pseuds/lunaverserocks
Summary: Freshly scarred and banished, Zuko is ordered to hunt down the fabled beast that plagues the Southern Water Tribe. But when he finally finds it—finds her—will he slay the monster…or will he fall in love? [AU with a slight hint at Beauty and the Beast] Rated for dark themes, nudity, and gore. Slow burn.





	1. The Beginning of the End

In the southern regions, the cold was almost unbearable, and the Capital of the Southern Water Tribe was no exception. It may have seemed warm and inviting, as it was inundated with a few hundred or so people and built up on a mixture of ramshackle huts for the poorer populace and architectural wonders like the ice-built dwellings of the rich, but it was still freezing. Blustery and barren, save the homes that lay scattered but tightly packed along the plowed streets.

On the outskirts of the expansive settlement, ice swaths jutted from the shifting ground, constantly moving, constantly roaming, like the ancient wanderers from old stories. Sometimes, the ground would disappear entirely, without warning, swallowing whatever unlucky soul happened to be on top. The shifting ice spared no one; human and animal alike perished without warning, for the landscape controlled all destinies, no matter their race, stature of birth, or supposed future. A few mountain ridges—more or less large piles of clipped and jagged ice—poked out from the otherwise flat expanse, standing out in the far distance more than two hands-high away. The odd range only punctured the south side of the village and it beckoned weary travelers with its glistening covering, promising warmth and shelter, but offering none.

On good days, one could see the sun for a few hours before it would slowly nudge its head back beyond the clouds, which would stir near-consistent plumes of flurries to delicately drift from the sky. Each fresh coating covered the tracks of nomads, traders, and shoppers alike; and it made the cityscape seem almost pristine, always clean.

Yet, deep beneath the Southern Capital's immaculate features, laid a dark secret, something that no local ever willingly discussed: the beast. Though nobody could directly claim that they had seen the foul creature, all knew of it. And all were terrified of the darkness that it claimed as its own.

In summer, while the rest of the world was gifted with warm, late days, the Southern Water Tribe was plunged in eternal darkness. For almost six months of every year, the Capital received nary a drop of sunlight. Plants refused to grow, winds violently blew, and the city grew eerily still. The rich covered their glass and steel-lined windows and all barred their doors; nobody left their homes, as they all feared the terrible beast that occasionally plagued their dark-filled streets.

Even though the locals were terrified of the dark—of the monster—every year, a new horde of brave and boastful hunters would arrive to claim their prize. Each man wanted their chance to hunt or kill the beast, and each year, their numbers grew as word spread and curiosity got the better of them. Similarly, each year, the numbers of the hunters who managed to return dwindled until scarcely any came back at all. Last year alone, three men out of thirty barely outlived the brutal tundra's blizzards and mysterious, endless night. None of the three had seen the beast; each one had been lucky enough—at least, according to the villagers, no doubt that the hunters would disagree—to avoid the monster. The tribespeople considered the returning hunters to be survivors and large feasts were held in their honor when sunlight finally broke through the clouds.

And even though the hunters did not succeed, every year, as the winter sunlight filtered down into the streets, the city burst back to life and all rejoiced. All welcomed the light. All basked in its warmth and celebrated the next six months of life, of prosperity and growth. For while the sun was out, nobody saw the beast.

But the sun was slowly sifting into the clouds, welcoming its yearly break, welcoming summer in the south, and the tribespeople were once again preparing for the impending darkness. And as the villager's preparations were underway, another group of hunters was preparing themselves for this year's quest in their allotted dwelling.

A few emboldened men had found their way to the Southern Capital from all across the world. Earth Kingdomers, Northern Water Tribesmen, and a rare few from the Fire Nation packed their sacks, grabbed the possessions that they decided they'd need, and cleaned their weapons of choice. Swords, spears, and knives were polished until they gleamed against the flickering candlelight before they were packed away or sheathed, attached to the hunter's hips snugly and securely so they could be drawn with skillful ease at a moment's notice.

There were thirty-two this year, two more than last year, and each had their own motivations. Some wished to kill the beast and use its corpse as a mount so they could gloat about their prowess. Others wanted the animal's hide, claws, and blood for the black market; no doubt, the mysterious, bestial items would bring in a hefty gold piece or two. A few others wanted to bring the beast back alive—if they determined it was safe, of course—so that they could display the monster for all to see and grab a sizable profit from their adventure. Others simply wanted bragging rights or a small sliver of fame.

But there was one man unlike the rest; he did not want the beast for money, as he had plenty at his disposal whenever he required it. And he did not require fame or bragging rights; no, his interests were far more intriguing. He was searching for the animal, intending to bring it back to his home alive, if able, so he could regain his honor. It was a task that had been bestowed upon him by the Fire Nation's cruel, golden-eyed ruler; his father, no less. And in order to return home and become the region's rightful heir and Crown Prince once more, the exiled youth was required to bring back the famous southern monster.  _Prove his worth_ , as the Fire Lord had told his kneeling son.

Zuko, the now-dethroned and banished Fire Nation Prince, freshly scarred and barely older than twenty, prepared his choice blades with a determined, half-bandaged expression, sparing the other hunters nary a thought or care as they gloated about their past expeditions, both animal and female alike. He sharpened his prized dao swords with a fist-sized stone, making sure that the slightest nick would draw blood. And when he was finally satisfied, he sheathed his valued blades and attached them to the waistband of his red-tinted parka. He shouldered his pack filled with foodstuffs, a spare change of clothes, a one-person tent, a bedroll, a few spare bandages for his incredibly irritating facial wound, and miscellaneous supplies, before joining an older fellow at the far side of the thick-canvased tent.

The grey-bearded fellow held a clipboard in his hands and was scribbling vehemently, jotting down the addresses of the hunters' emergency contacts, people who the Southern Water Tribe would contact in case the hunters died during their expedition. The scribe silently gestured to the wounded exile, but Zuko shook his bandaged head and walked to the other side of the tent, beside a war-hardened, Earth Kingdom man.

The ex-soldier looked at the injured youth and gave him a cryptic nod. Zuko returned the silent movement and crossed his arms, waiting for the rest of the hunters to finish their preparations so that they'd be allowed to embark upon their own separate journeys.

When most of the men were finished and waiting in the open area of the tent, the flap near them opened and a kindly-looking but battered, old man wandered inside. His ornate, blue parka, emblazoned with white markings, told them that he was Water Tribe. But he wasn't simply a tribesman; no, he was their chief, their awe-inspiring, merciless, yet gentle leader.

Chief Bato of the Southern Water Tribe.

He stood before them, his hair a matted, tangled mess from the wind, slightly pulled back into a half wolf-tail. After giving the crowd a brief scan, his two-toned, blue, three-fingered mittens quickly pierced the empty air and a resolute silence from the hunters followed as all looked to the chief, anticipating a silly blessing or a subtle warning.

"Welcome," Bato said, his voice firm and commanding, the tones of a hardened warrior and leader. "Welcome to the Southern Water Tribe." His cobalt eyes skimmed the crowd one more time, but he didn't bother to take in a single face because he was sure he wouldn't see most of them ever again. Instead, he looked at their expensive weapons, sheathed and hanging at their sides or held aloft in their hands, ready and waiting for their adventure to begin. They would certainly need those well-polished tools over the next few months and he grimaced at their eagerness to potentially die.

After a few nods and near-silent welcomes, the chief continued, lowering his hands and catching the stares of the hard-warn hunters before him. "For more than a decade, our people have hid from the dark, hid from the beast that comes out during our eternal, summer night. And now, you all stand before me, ready to embark upon a tireless journey in hopes to capture or kill our monster." He looked sad for a moment, ice-blue eyes seemingly glistening with tears that refused to fall; a grizzled and seasoned warrior seemingly crumbling during his own speech. "For ten years, hunters from all around the globe have tried and failed their task. Admittedly, some have perished by the beast's ruthless hand; others have died from their own follies…exposure, idiocy, and the like."

He frowned and gave each hunter a calculating gaze, studying each one and already knowing which ones wouldn't survive the first week. The Fire Nation man with half his face bandaged in thick, white wrappings probably wouldn't even withstand the first night and his expression darkened, wondering why the youth was bothering with such a merciless quest. "The task that you've decided to undertake is extraordinarily dangerous. I don't expect most of you to return. And, as a warning, if you don't return by the time first light breaks, we won't send anybody out for you until we've seen the sun for a fortnight. And even then, I will not risk the lives of my people to save yours. Does everybody understand?"

A few men nodded and one smallish man nestled in the back raised his hand. The school-like gesture prompted a few callous chuckles, but the squat man looked on, not caring, until the Southern Chief nodded at him, acknowledging him.

"Chief Bato," the small man said, shivering in his green-tinged parka even though they weren't even fully exposed to the brutal winter air that the south had to offer. "Can you tell us what the beast looks like? I've heard several accounts, but I don't know which to prepare for. Is it true that it's a shape-shifter and can appear out of nowhere?"

Bato frowned and closed his eyes. "Nobody has ever faced the beast and lived to give us a description." He let a small, half-smile fill his grim features, more or less trying to scare the youth and deter him from embarking. "So I urge you to be cautious."

The smallish man gulped and took a deep breath, barely determined to continue. A few other men smirked at the squat, Earth Kingdom man—more boy than man, really—as he tightened his grip on his backpack straps, lips puckering with concentration.

Bato straightened his back and shook his head, narrowing his cobalt eyes as he did so and betting his chieftainship that the Earth Kingdom boy wouldn't survive the night, either. Why was Tui so cruel when she picked her unsuspecting victims? And why did the horde of men before him seem so damaged, young, and unsuspecting. He knew that they would need all of the prayers he and his people could offer, so he bowed his head and opened the flap, letting them know that they could begin while contributing one final sentiment. "I offer you all luck and well-wishes. Be safe out there…be smart. Maybe then, you'll survive."

With grim expressions, the crowd slowly dispersed into the last few hours of the sun. They each chose a direction and ambled off into the snow flurries. Some squinted as they walked directly into the sun. Others winced as the wind nipped at their clothing and semi-covered faces. A few hunters paired up and walked off together, trails of thick fog pouring through their heavily-padded face furs as they discussed their strategies.

After the horde of hunters departed in different directions, Zuko strolled out of the tent and looked left and then right, narrowing his single, usable golden eye as he located his path. His goal was to reach the jutting mountains, hoping that he could find a safe cavern within its icy structure before the darkness blinded him and left him stranded, exposed, and vulnerable in the snowy wasteland.

He set off at a brisk pace and left the safety of the large settlement. Without sparing a backward glance, he trekked into the wild tundra, unaware of whom or what he could potentially encounter.

He found himself alone for a long while, and when the Capital finally disappeared from view, he spotted a wild winter hare, ears perked and exposing the slightly pink flesh of its inner ear. He stilled and steadied his gaze on the first possible kill of his expedition. The hare would provide a good first meal when he finally established a shelter, and since the landscape was so unforgivable, he doubted that game would wander into his path so easily ever again. He needed to take food whenever he could.

Slowly, he reached for the dagger attached to his left hip and he steadied the blade between his gloved fingers, ready to impale the creature by chucking his weapon at it. Born a prince and raised in a militaristic society, Zuko was a bred killer and a stunning marksman. His swordsmanship was regarded with the utmost respect, though he rarely displayed his skills and prowess, preferring to keep those talents hidden from his potential enemies so he could catch them off guard.

But the motionless rabbit wouldn't tattle about his abilities; no, the creature would soon perish and hang lifelessly from Zuko's gloved hand as he continued to the mountainside. And then he would disembowel, skin, and consume his kill in the safety of his new home for the next few months.

Aware that it wasn't alone, the hare cocked its head to the side and crinkled its small nose. Sniffing an unfamiliar scent, the animal tore off, scattering a plume of snow in its wake. But Zuko was quicker than the bunny and unleashed his blade, impaling the small creature and sprinkling a handful of its crimson blood into the soft, white ground. The snow turned a sickly shade of red until the rabbit's left hind leg twitched once and then twice before stilling entirely, dead.

As Zuko approached his dinner, he maneuvered his pack and brought it to his front, intending to tie the bunny to it instead of carrying it by hand, as he had originally intended. He rummaged through his knapsack and he found a tight coil of twine. After unraveling a small section, he grabbed his bloodied dagger and cut through the rope, winding the portion he was going to use around his gloved hand before he redeposited the unused coil in his pack. Carefully, he tied the twine around the hare's legs and attached it to the clasp of his pack, securing it tightly and making sure that the blood from its wound wouldn't drip precariously and leave behind an easy-to-follow trail of crimson splotches.

Once satisfied, Zuko shouldered his knapsack, rubbed his bloodied dagger in the snow to clean it, and continued onward, sheathing the blade on his left hip.

He walked for a few more hours, hearing nothing other than the soft snowfall and the loud crunching of his boots. The icy floor was slippery in some spots, but his spiked boots were extraordinarily helpful and provided the ultimate form of traction. Though his footing was secure, he was extremely cautious and kept his golden gaze on his feet, making sure that the ground wouldn't randomly swallow him up and send him plummeting to his death. He imagined that falling through a crack in the ice would be a brutal way to die, no matter if the fissure broke deep or shallow. If shallow, he would slowly starve to death, perhaps unable to climb out; if deep, he would fall and break every limb until he landed, broken and dead, upon an ice shelf. And there, his corpse would remain for an eternity; not an appropriate death for a citizen from the Fire Nation, or the Fire Nation's  _prince_ , no less.

His thoughts were interrupted by a quick glance skyward and he looked at the looming mountain of ice and growled, noticing that it was still more than a hands-height away. _Halfway_ , he mused darkly, sparing a glimpse at the sliver of sun that remained. Only halfway and he would soon be out of light.

He mumbled incoherent curses and shook his head, wondering how much longer he would have to walk before he finally made it to that stupid mountain.

A brutal wind picked at the exposed quarter of his face and he snarled at it, perturbed, like his frustration would will it away. Instead, it tugged harder at his parka and made the fur lining tickle his chin and wrists. The slight prickles continued to irritate him and he clenched his teeth together while realizing that he wouldn't make it to the mountain before the sun drifted away…for the next six months.

But he needed to try.

So, increasing his pace once more, he shuffled onward, fighting against the unrelenting wind. His workable eye squinted at the gleaming, silvery ground and he continued thinking, wondering what sort of creature he was supposed to be hunting.

Truthfully, Zuko was prepared for anything. Big or small, he was ready to take down whatever sized beast the Southern Water Tribe had. And he was determined to complete his task in record time and return to the Fire Nation a hero to his people, honorable once more.

The thought of spending more time than necessary in the South irked him. Besides being inexperienced, the cold and the brutality of his task were particularly annoying, but he knew that he'd have to endure his punishment so he could return home. And even though he had never been particularly interested in big game, he had gone on a few hunts with his grandfather and uncle when he was in his mid-teens. Back then, he thought them mind-numbingly boring, but his uncle had always made the trips memorable. Sometimes, even though he really didn't enjoy the actual hunt, he reminisced about the man's infatuation with tea and always tried to recall that one joke he could never quite remember.

"Leaf me alone, I'm bushed," he mumbled to nobody other than himself, stifling a light chuckle as he remembered the punchline. Always the punchline… _only_  the punchline, and Uncle Iroh wasn't around to remind him what the rest of the joke was. He sighed, slowing his pace for barely a second, risking another quick and irritating glance at the mountain.

_Damn_ , Zuko thought bitterly, holding his gloved hand out again and noticing that he only made it an additional inch. He looked skyward and noticed that the sun was more than halfway beyond the horizon.  _Damn_ , he thought again, narrowing his good eye.

Knowing that things were already  _not_ going according to plan, he grumbled angrily and scoured the ground, noting that it seemed sturdy enough. He'd have to make camp and he'd need to do it quick before night fell and he wouldn't be able to see his own hands, let alone his supplies.

Peeved, he took off his pack and removed his tent. The thick canvas was wrapped around a few poles and he furiously unpacked his makeshift shelter, shaking out the fabric in the air before laying it flat. He inserted the poles and carefully climbed in, still grumbling as he shoved his pack to the rear of his tent. Grimacing at the sight of his unskinned, still whole, and pleasantly dead dinner, he sighed at his rotten luck and exited the small tent, shielding his face from the snowfall that had picked up while he was inside.

An early summer blizzard seemed like it was stirring, which made him curse once more, wondering how much more the spirits wished to spit on his luck…and pride. He knew he'd need to skin and consume the bunny quickly, lest he lure dangerous predators to his tent in the middle of the night, which would further sully his poor luck.

So he laid the rabbit on the frozen ground and began flaying the animal, pressing the solid edge of his dagger diagonally to the ground. Skinned, the tight, woven meat was exposed and Zuko looked around, blinking blearily and realizing that he didn't have wood for a fire. He cursed at his stupidity and then ungloved his hand.

After taking a deep breath, a small, controlled flame poured out of his fingertips and he pressed his palm against the meat, cooking his dinner with meticulous precision. He hated using his bending this way, but in order to survive, he knew he'd be forced to do things he didn't like. To Zuko, bending was used for war and fighting; it was a respectable art that shouldn't be used for culinary purposes. Using his bending for heating water, for cooking…it felt like a waste of his talents. And in that moment, he was disgusted with himself a little bit, but he knew it was for the best.

When the animal was thoroughly cooked and devoured, Zuko crawled back into his tent and watched the final rays of sunlight slowly disappear beyond the horizon. He took one final, warm inhale and darkness quickly consumed the earth, swallowing everything up with its eerie blanket. Haughtily, he snapped the flaps of his tent closed and shuffled further inside.

He untied his dao swords, but kept his dagger strapped to his hip, unwilling to part with it in case a critter managed to sneak up on him in the dead of night. After unlacing his boots, he stacked them carefully at his side and wiggled his semi-frozen toes until his fiery blood brought back feeling.

Sighing once more, he unrolled his bedroll and scuttled between the covers of his sleeping bag, still completely dressed in his parka since he didn't know how cold it could get. He rolled between the bedding and made himself comfortable before he slowly drifted to sleep, positive that he would waken and jump up at the slightest sound.

Zuko dreamt of happy things. He fantasized his return home, of the parades they would throw celebrating his triumphant return. He visualized his betrothed, Mai, and murmured her name in his sleep, praying that she would wait for his homecoming. And finally, he dreamt of a mysterious pair of captivating, cerulean eyes, more beautiful a shade than he had ever seen before.

Puzzled but stewing over the unusual shade of blue, Zuko dreamily thought about what it meant…until he woke, body tense and realizing that there was something sniffing around outside his tent.


	2. The Transformation

The sun was slowly dipping down and meeting the horizon. And even though the sky was still alight, Katara could feel the looming, impending darkness in her core, like every year before. It made her skin tingle and her bones practically vibrate, making her uncomfortable and slightly agitated. She knew that it was a side-effect, a simple warning…and she hated it; hated what she had become over the past decade, hated what she had done to survive.

Sitting at the far end of her cavern with a small peephole as her only window to the outside world, Katara stewed and crossed her arms, perturbed with how rapidly the winter had passed. Never long enough…always too quick.

Blue eyes narrowed and she glared at the sliver of sun that remained, running her bare hand through her bushy, unkempt mane of matted, chocolate-colored hair. For now, she seemed normal; well, as normal as a feral-looking, Water Tribe girl could look. Admittedly, she hadn't had a decent bath in months, hadn't bothered to brush her hair in nearly as long, and hadn't seen another person who  _didn't_ want to immediately kill her in years. Why bother taking care of herself when she was locked away by her own hand, hidden in the glacier mountainside, away from her family, away from her home.

_Home_.

She squinted through the blinding, snow-laden ground and looked at the slightly glowing and raised mass. There, a good thirty miles away, was her home and the last remaining member of her family: Gran-Gran Kanna. A twinge of deep-seated sadness spurted through her heart when she remembered the family that she had lost. Mom, Dad, and even Sokka were all gone now, dead to the world and more than dead to her. Her face twisted into a cringe and she fought back tears, remembering their last few moments, different yet similar shades of blue eyes filled with varying levels of terror.

_They never saw it coming…_

The muscles in her left forearm twitched and she growled as she clutched her arm, running red scratches down the inside as she aggressively itched. Her skin was prickling and she stared at it. Coarse, white hair was starting to grow, lengthening dramatically as the sun descended. The first transformation was always slow and painful, and every nerve was on edge, squirming with the magic from her curse.

She gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the pain. But it was plucking dangerously through her muscles, another foul warning, telling her to get away from her loved ones…something that she hadn't known a few years ago until it was too late. If only she'd known then, maybe her family would still be alive.

Feeling slightly warm and more agitated than before, she scrambled closer to her makeshift window, opening up the glacial wall with a swift flick of her wrist. The water trickled down and Katara perched herself close to the edge, elbow resting on the small, freshly-made sill. One singular, somewhat contented sigh escaped her throat and she continued to lean there, watching the sun shift downward. Her hopes and dreams disappeared with the dimming light but her blue eyes unblinkingly gazed onward, forever searching. For what, she didn't know. But it always felt right.

A rough gale of arctic wind tore through her little cave, but it didn't bother her. The frigid temperature hadn't bothered her since she had been a small child and she often considered her tolerance the only positive side-effect of her usually inconvenient, cursed state. The fact that her skin was almost on fire,  _did_  bother her, however. So much so, that she was calmly peeling off layers of clothing, scraps of other parkas, tunics, and pants that she managed to mend together over the years; a mixture of red, blue, and green…material from all of the people that had tried—and failed—to capture or kill her over the years.

With carefree thumps, her parka, tunic, leggings, and boots landed on the floor. She thought about taking off her underthings—they'd be torn off in a matter of minutes, anyway—but she felt a little more human with them on, a little more normal. And right now, feeling the way she did, normal felt…good. Even though, she knew it wouldn't last long.

After waterbending her window back into its peephole form, Katara sat down on the fur-covered ledge that was her bed and stared at the icy wall, waiting for the agony of her transformation to finally take hold. Her reflection, pained and distorted, stared back at her and she winced at it, causing the mirrored image to jerk backward. A twisted tendril of hair fell in front of her face and she looked broken, cracked in half.

Funnily, though she may have only  _looked_ broken, she  _felt_ broken, too. She was torn between holing herself up further in the mountain and allowing her body to slowly starve to death rather than facing another cruel year of eternal darkness, of the horrid hunters sent by Chief Bato, a man she once called 'Uncle.'

With a guttural groan, she shook the thought off. Suicide never seemed like a good option; according to her tribe's heritage, it was the coward's way out, and she could only hope that Tui or La would let her die an honorable warrior's death, in cursed form or not.

_Please_ , she thought, clasping her hands together and closing her eyes,  _please let this year be different. Please let them—_

Mid-thought, the sun completely disappeared and darkness tore through her cave. It was about to happen…the transformation. Not the glittery, awe-inspiring sequence that princesses from her mother's stories had when they kissed frogs (just frogs and not frog-guppies, which she always thought odd), but the horrendously excruciating and twisting feeling of her body being forcibly altered to fit her cursed physique.

She started counting, trying to distract herself.  _One_. In years past, she used to pray to Tui and La in her final few moments.  _Two_. She stopped about four years ago when she realized that the Moon and Ocean Spirits never heard—or cared about—her pleas.  _Three_. Instead, she asked more trivial questions, like…how many hunters would be out there this year?  _Four_. Were they ready for her? Did they know what they were getting into?  _Five_. Last year, one boy no older than fifteen had tried to kill her. He didn't last long and she still occasionally heard his screams in her dreams. They haunted her.  _Six_. How many eyes would be green? Blue? Hazel?  _Seven._ Twenty-two blue…fifty-eight green…seven hazel—that was her current kill count.  _Eight_. How many more would she add to her tallies?  _Nin—_

Without warning, a gripping pain seared through her bottom half and her legs twitched and slowly elongated before curling slightly backward. Her feet extended out and thick, black pads swelled from the bottom, cushioning her bare skin from the frozen ground. The white hair that had once prickled her skin burst out and bristled with magic, coating her tan flesh until it completely disappeared. Her arms straightened and her fingers shortened; though, her nails turned a sickly shade of black and protruded outward, lengthening and sharpening dramatically until talons deadlier than the sharpest blade pressed against the frozen ground. The underthings that she had decided to leave on a few moments ago shredded and fell to the floor in tattered pieces as her chest and waist expanded.

Her unkempt, chocolate locks changed to white and fell delicately on her shoulders, blending in with the hair throughout the rest of her body. Painfully, her face contorted, nose extending into a snout, teeth lengthening until they were sharpened fangs, meant to maim…meant to kill. Her ears extended out and up before flicking backward, suddenly able to hear for miles.

Besides the bodily anguish of her limbs being slowly manipulated, the intense, physical pains were slowly building, making Katara's human brain spin, making her want to pass out and lay in her own drool for a little while until everything was over. All five senses heightened and Katara squirmed restlessly, digging her palms—her  _paws_ —into the ground while she tried to dispel the sudden involuntary onslaught.

Eyes that could once see simple colors expanded and started seeing individual, vibrant waves; blues, greens, reds, pinks, hell…even a random shade of orange that should  _not_ have existed in her little cave clouded her vision and made her shake her head, trying to dissipate the strange visions. Like that helped. It hadn't in years' past.

Moving her head back and forth agitated her ears and made them flap against her skull. The sound was practically deafening and she stilled the very instant the experience became too painful. She wished for the dreary silence that she had while in her human form, but the spirits had more interesting ideas. Instead, her ears picked up sounds from a few miles away. An arctic hen clucking, an unknown male—probably the nearest hunter—breathing, a penguin squabbling over a lover, a prancing polar-bear-dog playing with her litter… _everything_  was loudly bouncing around her skull and she tried to press her paw against her maw to dull the sounds, but it didn't help.

Unfamiliar scents wafted through the air; they were like little trails in the empty expanse of her cave. Like individual lines that she could follow when she tilted her head just so. To the right, the smell of a cooking rabbit caught her more bestial attention, but she tried her best to ignore the twitch in her stomach and focus on other things. Like the smell to the left, of the crumbling, winter blooms…the final smells of good weather slowly dissipating and dying. There. That was better. Not the savory, mouthwatering scent of winter—yes, most definitely winter and not a fuzzy lop—rabbit. Spirits, she could practically  _taste_ it.

And speaking of tastes, her jaws were aching after her teeth had punctured outward. She felt like a teething child and she craved soothing attention…alcohol, ice chips, a cold rubbery toy… _meat_ to sink her ailing teeth into.

_Mmmm_ , she thought, growling a little bit and licking her lengthened chops. The rabbit was starting to smell better. And it was slowly luring her to the edge of the room, to her porthole.

Her muscles jerked once more, throwing her involuntarily to the floor and practically crippling her. The feeling inside her form slowly stilled and she took a moment to clench her teeth and will the final moments of pain away. Trying to distract herself once more, Katara focused on her paws and allowed her small toes—on both her front and rear—to scratch into her icy floor. Her claws scraped against the ground and shavings peeled away with her frustrated concentration.

After a few contemplative minutes, the agony subsided and Katara allowed herself a moment to look in the dimmed, icy wall. Her mirror. Her cerulean eyes—the only piece of her body that remained visibly untouched—stared back at her and glistened. Tears that refused to fall. Always tears.

Even though the room was dark, she was able to see her wolfish form…her cursed form. And she absolutely hated it.

With a toothy snarl, she turned away and crawled through her small window. She pounced about the glacial peaks of her mountainous home and raised her newly-formed snout. Standing pensively still, she pouted, smelling a few new scents, most too far away to be bothersome. Hunters. And this year, she could tell that there were more than usual.

_Great_.

Tapping into her more human traits, she managed to roll her eyes and sit on her haunches as she tried to use her heightened, animal eyesight to her advantage. She peered out but couldn't see much else other than the ethereal glow from her former home, and she turned away, saddened. Looking between the empty, darkened expanse between her rightful home and her cave, she squinted. But in darkness like this, she knew that she'd have to use her nose to navigate her way through the tundra. It was a good thing she had many years of practice.

Snout raised, she took another inhale, evaluating how many hunters were close enough to be potentially dangerous. Only one scent permeated her air; the smell of citrusy fruits, cloves, and cinnamon, some sort of heavily-disguised, masculine cologne. It was an odd fragrance, something that she hadn't really sniffed before. Usually, when the hunters were out and about, all that she smelled was the stinky aroma of perspiration…and fear—once she made her presence known, of course. But this was something strangely…pleasing.

And she instantly wanted to ignore it. But the smell of cooking rabbit was swirling around that particular tendril, entwined. Whoever was giving off that pleasant aroma was the source of the delicious, meaty fragrance. And she didn't know if she could avoid running off in that direction for much longer. Animal instincts and curiosity were a bitch.

Her stomach growled and she wanted to turn back into her hole and nose through her belongings until she found her hidden foodstuffs; dried meat and shriveled sea prunes that she kept deep in her cave in case the summer darkness scared away most of her game, things that she kept concealed to consume during the few, fantastic days of the summer when the full moon forced her curse away. Those few days of the month where she was safe and sound, in her human form once more. Normal.

The smell was too much and all of her sources of distraction were dwindling away. Her bestial instincts took over and she found herself bounding down the mountainside, tumbling down the hill with skilled precision. Each footfall was soft and perfect, and she landed at the bottom with a stiff pounce before racing off in the direction of the charred rabbit…toward the human who smelled like oranges, cloves, and cinnamon.

Did he know that he'd be her first victim? Was he ready for her? Did he even stand a chance?

_Probably not_.

* * *

**OoOoO**

* * *

Zuko silently huffed. Agni, his luck was piss-poor at best. He gritted his teeth and silently wriggled in his sleeping bag. The fabric floor around him was wet, no doubt the dampness was because he had been unconsciously firebending while he was dreaming, trying to keep himself delightfully warm. But now that he was awake, it was rather disgusting. And more annoyingly, it was noisy. Slushy. Sure to keep the animal lurking outside his tent interested.

The fabric squelched under his rump as he rummaged for his boots, lacing them with quick and practiced fingers. When everything was appropriately tightened and tied, Zuko slowly and cautiously pulled the zippered flap of his tent up and open and crawled outside.

It was dangerously dark and he drew his dagger, one slit eye peering through the ever-present, drifting snow.

_Fucking snow_ , he mentally cursed, moving into a deadly crouch, listening carefully for the hearty sniffs that had woken him. But after a few moments of hearing nothing but the soft snowfall, Zuko let out a deep exhale and lowered his knife.  _Nothing_ , he bitterly assumed.  _Nothing but my own paranoia_.

He couldn't argue with his assumption; since he'd been horrifically burned and exiled by his father, he heard things while he slept. Untruthful things—murmurings, noises, incoherent babble in voices that he didn't want to remember. And going to sleep thinking that a wild beast could be walking about had probably put him on edge and awakened his hardly-used imagination.

The sniffing sounds were just a figment of his imagination. Nothing more.

With a perturbed growl, he collapsed to his knees and started turning, aiming blindly in the dark for the entrance to his tent. Reaching out an ungloved hand, Zuko felt the thick canvas and started crawling inside. But he only got two feet in before a threatening rumble pierced the otherwise silent night...somewhere in the darkness behind him.

* * *

**OoOoO**

* * *

The darkness was strangely blinding in her cursed, wolf form; it made Katara blink until she got used to the sight of glistening snow, some flakes interestingly colored with vivacious greens, blues, golds, and oranges. Speckled and beautiful, but blinding nonetheless. Subtly irritating and forcing her to look forward rather than down at the treacherous ground underfoot.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, warning her that she had steadily run a few miles without a decent break. But the scent—the rabbit and the cologne-wearing hunter—were getting nearer with every footfall and she couldn't stop. A piece of her was excited; tonight would just be one more kill, one more tally to add to her list. And she couldn't wait to see the unexpected terror within whatever colored eyes the man had. She secretly hoped they were blue.  _Northern_ Water Tribe blue. Spirits, she liked destroying Northerners.

Oh, how she looked forward to the sensation of the final few pulsations of blood trickling across her tongue as the life literally drained from a hunter's body.  _That'll teach them_ , she said with a callous snap of her jaws, never breaking her stride.  _That'll teach them to mess with me_. As they had for several years already, annoyingly enough.  _Why can't they just let me be?_ Why make a  _game_ of it and lure her out, try to kill her when she hadn't been the one to start things.

_Goddamned nobleman,_ she inwardly snarled, remembering that day…over a decade ago, now; the day when her promising, curse-free life had been maliciously stolen from her. That day, when she had—

Katara bristled and skidded to an abrupt stop. Another scent was filling the air, something earthy and familiar.  _Another animal. An undomesticated…polar-bear-dog?_  It was a guess, but she'd bet her life on it. She'd smelled if before, a few times, actually; though, the first time had been last year, when the polar-bear-dog was merely a young pup trying to survive on the brutal land.

_Akiak_ , she'd named the pup after he blindly stumbled into a battle between her and last year's final hostile hunter, baring his naturally sharp puppy teeth and snarling at the human threat. The way he had snapped his jaws at the man, hatefully biting him on the ass, leaving deep, crimson gashes on his green parka. Making the human howl and unsheathe a poison-tipped blade—meant to  _kill_ and not immobilize—as a last resort. And even though the pup couldn't smell the tainted Shirshu venom, Katara could, and she nipped the dagger out of the man's hands while Akiak bit the soft flesh of his neck, killing their mutual threat instantaneously.

Admittedly, Katara had felt very grateful toward the pup; she hadn't been faring well during the battle—a full six months of tirelessly watching her back, alone and afraid, had taken its usual toll and she hadn't expected the man to be looming near her snowy, mountainous home, waiting for her to return so he could claim his prize. And while fighting, she had pathetically whined, not yet ready for death, but far too fatigued after killing so many others to properly avoid it.

But when Akiak sprang forward, the tides had changed in her—no,  _their_ —favor. The pup had killed the hunter and Katara had licked his wounds,  _healed_ him with her bending before he sauntered off into the night. And even though Katara never asked for it—she didn't really know how—occasionally, the pup would adventurously stroll around her mountain. Though, he always left her alone…especially when she  _wasn't_ in wolf form. Like he knew.

He kind of reminded her of Sokka, even though her brother had been nearly two years older than her; protective and adventurous, smart but knowing when to leave things alone. The idea guy; the man with the plan. Burly and boastful but always seeking a mothering and gentle, helpful hand, even though he'd never outright admit it—like Akiak even  _could_ since Katara still hadn't figured out how to communicate with him properly. All in all, the pup was  _just_ like Sokka. And it was a small comfort. It was why she had befriended him after that. Only him, curiously enough.

And, just like she had been with Sokka, she felt a little protective over him. Enough so, that when she realized that the human Akiak was presently facing was more troublesome than most, she whimpered. It was the way the man's heartbeat hadn't even fluttered while he was slowly circled by the wild dog, unaware which direction he'd be hit, but knowing that the hit was, indeed, coming. It was the slow and skillful way he was drawing his dagger and lowering into a springy crouch, ready for anything. It was unnerving to sense the human's utter  _lack of fear_.

So, as a warning, she barked; just one, high pitched yelp that forced the pup's head to shoot up, ears alert. When she did it again, Akiak bounded in her direction, ignoring the hunter entirely so he could greet the friend that he had missed over the last few months.

And when Akiak was safely away from the hunter, Katara sighed and sat, waiting to see what the man would do…watching him with her intrigued, hyper-intensified, cerulean-tinted gaze.

But after cautiously waiting for a few moments, still in his crouch, the human ignited a small burst of flame in his hand and looked as far as he could. Katara's blue eyes widened when she saw the fire flicker with his breath and light up the frozen ground. And with the aid of the yellowish light, she noticed that he had bandages covering the left side of his face, thick wrappings protecting his maimed skin from the bitter cold. He was…hurt?

Still watching intently, she fought back a snarl while the firebender confidently disappeared between the flaps of his canvas dwelling like nothing had happened. Like he knew that he could take whatever threat had just cornered him. Like he wasn't afraid to die…or kill.

Katara pondered. A firebender…in the Southern Water Tribe. How rare; how…unique. Though, this new hunter certainly hadn't been the first firebender that she had encountered, and she was positive that he wouldn't be the last. But it was the attitude of the man that intimidated her. And while Akiak nuzzled into her neck, giving her a warm greeting that simply expressed how glad he was to see her, the cursed waterbender stewed over her new threat.

This particular hunter was already maimed, yet he was still out in the cold, his tent opening aimed toward her mountain and not toward the settlement. So…he was hunting for  _her_ , no doubt. And since he was doing so while injured, ignoring sound medical advice, she knew that he was extraordinarily motivated and treacherous. What right-minded human being would willingly batter their body so harshly in order to capture a mysterious beast without being guaranteed success?

What kind of hunter didn't properly dispose of their meals while bracing the cruelties of the wilderness? Bury their kill deep in the snow so scavengers wouldn't be intrigued by the smells. Was he…perhaps…inept at tracking and instead interested in luring her out, intriguing her bestial instincts to the point that she couldn't refuse?

What kind of hunter—what kind of  _person_ —was this, anyway?

It clicked faster than she dared admit. She knew the type: an unhinged, confident, and determined one.

And crazy, cocky, and desperate humans were the worst kind.

_He'll have to be last_ , she thought, sniffing the air with unusual grace.  _That man is dangerous_.

Akiak clicked his jaw, attempting to play, but Katara nosed him away from the firebending hunter's tent, away from potential danger. Always a little too naive, Akiak was, and it would get him in trouble one day.


	3. The Magic of the Full Moon

Someone or some _thing_  was following him; he  _knew_ it; he could more or less sense its body heat through the blustery, snow-drenched tundra. And even though the presence of another being soothed him greatly—the feeling of being all alone was getting to him—it irked him, knowing that he had already caught the attention of a competing hunter or some miscreant animal. He thought that he'd been careful, safe, even. He'd walked off in the opposite direction of the other hunters and traveled  _only_ when he could see filtered bursts of moonlight through the clouds, lighting his way with its ethereal glow.  _That_  had been his strategy. And for a while, everything had worked out pretty well.

But now, walking in the slivers of safety from the final night of the waning gibbous moon, something was following him. Irritatingly closely, too.

Zuko dug his spiked boots into the frosted ground, shuffling uncomfortably across a precariously glistening expanse coated with  _at least_ two inches of unforgiving, treacherous ice. He had to be careful in the South's horrid environment, more careful than that first night, when he had been growled at in the dark; that night, almost two weeks ago now, when he had been sure that he was about to be viciously mauled by a wild animal with more teeth than he could count, before something—two dignified yelps, actually—lured the scavenger away. If it hadn't been for those two yelps, he was certain that he would've come face-to-face with his first predator, maybe even the beast, itself.

The ground crunched with each cautious step and the sound pulsated through the air. Years of training with highly-skilled stealth tutors felt like it was completely wasted. No matter how hard he tried, walking  _quietly_ wasn't an option. And he huffed, knowing that whoever or  _what_ ever was tracking him would have a damn easy job.

_Agni,_ he thought with a grim sneer hidden under his face guard,  _why do you make things so difficult for me?_

With only his morbid thoughts for company, he plodded along, keeping his face down in case the ground shifted, but keeping his ears attuned to the sounds around him. Whatever was following him was damn near silent and he wished he could copy the being's elusive footfalls. But whatever was following him had undoubtedly grown up in the South's harsh environment. And Zuko? Well, he obviously hadn't; and he was used to the unstable movement of sand and gravel,  _not_ the fluffy white shit around him that crunched no matter where he put his weight when he stepped.

A soft, near soundless sigh and a puff of frosty breath filled the snowy air as he stilled. He had started his trek determined to make it to the safety of the mountainside within the first night, but the combination of an early summer blizzard and a cloud-filled sky had stalled his travel plans, forcing him to stay holed up in his tent for the first few days. And now, earlier than he had intended  _once again_ , he needed to stop for the night and make camp, regardless of the creature—human or animal—still on his tail.

Because, in a few minutes, the waning gibbous moon would descend for a few hours, encasing the entire wasteland in total darkness, which meant that he'd be completely exposed to the elements  _and_  whatever  _thing_ was following him. And even though he was frowning at his poor luck, he didn't spare it much thought. After tonight, the full moon would rise, giving him three glorious nights of light-filled travel.

And he couldn't wait for the sky to light up. Much as he hated to admit it, he desperately missed the sun and he hadn't realized how much his body craved the burning orb's powerful rays until it was gone. And he desperately hoped that he'd be able to get  _some_ sort of relief from the reflective power of the full moon. Maybe the shafts of pure, untainted moonlight would replenish his energy stores, grant him a fraction of the power the sun usually did.

Well, he sincerely  _hoped_ that would be the case. And right now, hope was all he had, especially since his bones were aching from the near-constant chilly wind and his ever-present breath of life-saving fire.

He looked around and unshouldered his pack, shuffling in the snow and making sure that he was on solid ground. A few nights ago, he had woken up on a fissure and he had to slowly scoot himself across the three inch gap to safety. And ever since then, he had been extraordinarily cautious and even took a few moments to walk a determined circle around his small encampment, making doubly sure that he wouldn't wake up wedged between two deadly sheaths of bone-chilling ice.

Tent set up and a rationed slice of withered komodo-rhino jerky for dinner, Zuko settled in for the few hours of daytime darkness. He focused on his breathing and forced chi to his fingertips; a spark of flames flickered in his tent, offering an eerie glow and providing a burst of warmth. Enamored, he watched the dancing fire before snuffing it out with a flick of his fingers. His energy output—much like his food intake—needed to be regulated.

Another lonesome sigh.

Enclosed in darkness once more, Zuko shuffled around in his sleeping bag and wrapped his arm under his head, protecting his maimed face from the biting sting of the canvas-covered, but still chilly floor. After a few dreary minutes, he fell asleep, remembering the final few words of encouragement from the only person he could truly trust: Uncle Iroh.

" _Remember, Prince Zuko, even in the worst environments, a firebender is resourceful. Use what you're given. Use what you've learned—what I've taught you— and I_ know  _that you'll return."_

_A heavy, shameful growl and a twinge of desperation in the prince's voice. "But Uncle, no firebender has ever gone that long without the sun. Even Zhao, when he traveled south five years ago—" A grimace as one of the palace healers applied a poultice to his raw wound. "He only lasted two months before he—"_

" _Zhao was a_ fool _," Iroh interrupted, patting his injured nephew on the back as the healer worked around him. "He didn't understand—didn't know his limitations. Pride and narrow-minded ambition kept him going for a fair amount of time before his inner fire dwindled. He didn't understand the inner-workings of breath control like you do." A stiff nod and a soft, beard-lined smile. "And he's lucky to have made it home alive."_

" _But he's a_ master _. How am I supposed to complete this task if he didn't?" Zuko stiffened when a grim and sober realization hit him and he shoved the healer hovering over him away. She toppled into her cart and squeaked, and Zuko glared at her until she scrambled away, out of earshot. A little ashamed with his outburst, he looked to the right, golden and pained eye narrowing at the Fire Nation's proud emblem as he whispered, "Father…he doesn't want me to come home, does he?"_

_Iroh sucked in a breath and carefully exhaled. "My brother's ambitions are like a tightly woven puzzle. Nobody knows his true intentions, and—"_

" _Except Azula."_

_A hesitant pause. "Perhaps."_

" _He doesn't want me to come home," Zuko repeated, more forceful this time._

" _Don't let those kinds of thoughts deter you, Prince Zuko. I'm certain that you'll return by the end of summer, victorious."_

" _And if I don't?"_

_Iroh's hand rested on Zuko's shoulder, fingers pressed tight against the red silk tunic. Reassuring and filled with comforting heat. "You_ must."

_A servant entered, knapsack and coin purse in his hands, packed with whatever essentials Zuko'd need during his journey. It was the least that the Fire Lord could do for an unachievable assignment. "Prince Zuko," he nodded, voice solemn. "It's time."_

_Rigidly, Zuko stepped away from the medical table and shouldered the bag. He turned to give his uncle one final goodbye before the elderly man sprinted to him with uncharacteristic, youthful grace and caught him in a deep embrace. After a struggle, the prince relented and melted into the man's hug, cherishing the farewell by wrapping his arms around Iroh's portly frame._

_The servant cleared his throat and the embrace ended. "Prince Zuko," he said again, urgency in his voice._

_Zuko growled and spun on the ball of his foot, bandaged face tinted red. "Goodbye, Uncle."_

_Iroh shook his head, speckles of tears in his eyes. "Remember your breath of fire. It could save your life out there."_

" _I will."_

" _And put your hood up! Keep your ears warm!"_

" _I know."_

" _You can do this, Prince Zuko! I believe in you!" A reassuring smile._

_And with that, the door snapped closed and he was gone._

* * *

**OoOoO**

* * *

Katara paced her cavern, itchy and annoyed. The first full moon was always bothersome; three days of near-constant light that usually forced her curse away. She should've been happy with the brief stint in her human form, but with a total of thirty hunters still remaining—one Northern Water Tribesman had fallen into a chasm as she watched from afar, blinking at her luck, and the other had died honorably, Akiak's teeth clenched around his still-fidgeting neck before the polar-bear-dog feasted on the Earth Kingdom man's innards—she was nervous.

And hungry.

But she couldn't go out and properly scour the landscape for large game because the curiously injured firebender was close to her home, his presence limiting her hunting ground. With his harsh steps, he'd even scared away a pair of mouthwatering, decent-sized caribou-elk that she'd been stalking for a whole afternoon without knowing it. And in his unwavering and impatient haste, he'd gotten aggressively nearer over the past few days, forcing her closer and closer to her mountain in an effort to guard it from his occupation. The maimed man was crazily tenacious; even an unseasonal, two-foot blizzard hadn't halted his trek, and Katara found herself wondering what she could do to stall his ever-growing, undeniably irritating advance.

She could've taken a chance and confronted the man, but she didn't know how long she would last without getting singed or grievously maimed by an awry and unavoidable blast. He was skilled, fearless. And his overabundant confidence frightened her in a way that it shouldn't have.

She didn't forget about her assets; she had claws and teeth that were crafted to kill, not to mention her own bending as a last resort. But this man, with his firebending abilities and unafraid attitude…he was a threat that couldn't be taken lightly. He needed to be taken down swiftly,  _carefully,_ every single maneuver thought through with calculated precision. She would only have one chance, and  _she_  wanted to come out the victor.

He wasn't the first bender that she had faced. No, she'd encountered a few skilled combatants over the past decade. Though, some were definitely more skilled than others. Earthbenders, particularly, struggled in the South since there wasn't a viable source of bedrock, as it was buried too far below the icy surface to be immediately usable. Granted, some quick-witted fellows had brought their own supply; jugs of dirt that could be solidified at a moment's notice. And they occasionally caught her off guard with chunks of sharpened stone that they would fling through the air with deadly accuracy, spearing her when she least expected it.

Waterbenders were particularly troublesome, as their element was all around. But it wasn't only  _their_ element. It was hers, too. And when the fighting got tough, Katara could occasionally tap into her human bending forms and whip her head back, forcing the ground to jerk up unnaturally and twist her opponents off balance. She would take those brief moments of surprise to her advantage, swiftly ending her bending brethren with quick nips in their vital spots. Necks and thighs were excellent targets since they housed important veins and arteries. And since it was  _unmanly_  for Northerners to learn healing, the men died, cursing her existence as she bounced through their final, lackluster bending forms, chuckling as their life slithered into the ground, coating the pure white snow until it was a bloody red.

There were so few firebenders that Katara was never really knew what to do with them. The first one she had encountered had been five years ago, when a burly, brown-haired, heavily side-burned man who ear-deafeningly proclaimed himself as 'Zhao: the Beast Slayer' invaded her mountain and mercilessly scoured each tiny hole and expansive cavern until he was satisfied that nothing was there. She'd barely managed to close up her peephole and hide as he passed, talking to himself and cursing the wind and ice quite loudly as he did so.

At first, she had been a little intimidated by the red-clad hunter, enough so that she'd hidden instead of fought. So she watched him for a while, intrigued but cautious; and after a few days of careful stalking, she discovered that he was abnormally reckless and sometimes burst out in fits of rage that she didn't wholly understand, melting the ground in large swaths and making it hazardous to safely cross. And even though she'd kept her distance, he had managed to somehow sneak up on her during the full moon, while she was in her weak and less intimidating human form.

Without even questioning her non-cursed appearance, he'd attacked, unprovoked, and she had barely managed to get away from him, panting heavily as she ran through the snow, covering her tracks with her bending, almost naked and nursing a few terrible burns from searing blasts that had somehow torn through her parka. And even though she'd escaped, Zhao didn't give up his search.

He tracked her ruthlessly, melting a fair number of her hiding spots as she fled from him. And when the new moon emptied the skies, he attacked once more, somehow thinking that he could utilize the darkness to his advantage. And for some unknown reason…it  _worked_. Even though she had her heightened eyesight and nose, he had snuck up on her and pinned her down, flames held aloft and ready to strike before something withered in his eyes. With a pained expression and a few exhausted pants, he released her and retreated with an uncoordinated haste, leaving Katara confused, scared, and clinging to the faintest strings of consciousness.

And by the next morning, when she had regained her cognizance, she realized that he had suddenly  _vanished_ , without a trace or scent in the tundra, leaving her sorely discombobulated and decidedly irritated. He'd been the only person to see her—in both human and cursed form—and live to tell the tale. That, alone, was aggravating, and a piece of Katara knew that she hadn't seen the last of that man. And every year, she wondered when he'd return, once again screaming about his prowess and boasting that he was 'Zhao: the Beast Slayer  _and_ the Endless Night Survivor.'

Since that troublesome firebender, there'd only been two more, but they were soundlessly killed with the aid of the full moon's power. Now, that didn't mean that nonbending, Fire Nation citizens didn't hunt her. She'd encountered a fair number of those shivering and barbaric weapons specialists, and they were surprisingly dangerous. Even though they didn't have bending talents, they were skilled marksmen and swordsmen, never giving up without a fight. True warriors.

Much like the brothers that had come before him, the maimed firebender slowly ambling toward her home must have been taught by the same ruthless tutors. Never giving up must have been the entire nation's encouraging and bothersome motto. How noble.

Her stomach grumbled and she knew that she needed to go out and hunt; at least,  _try_ one final time before the magic of the full moon temporarily lifted her curse. But she was scared and was having a hard time trying to convince herself that it was necessary; enough so, that she'd been holing herself up for the past few days, munching on her emergency rations with a vigor that should've been shameful. And now that her food stores were nearly depleted, the threat of hunger was slowly clouding her mind. She should go out…but she couldn't; not with the determined and undeterred firebender only a few miles away. Not when Akiak was sniffing out his trail, even though she'd told him to stay away. A simple hunt was suddenly a dangerous mission.

Her thoughts twisted until she prudently nodded her matted head. She could do it; stand three days of being a little hungry until the full moon passed. In her human form, the hunger wouldn't be  _too_ bad. It was only three days. She could take three days…no problem.

Convinced, Katara exhaled a warm puff and nuzzled into her fur-lined ledge. A soft breeze floated into her peephole, encouraging her to sleep. And sleep…she did.

Until her stomach rumbled early the next evening, disturbing her quiet slumber and aggravating her immensely. She needed to hunt. And luckily, the spirits were on her side; the full mooned sky was cloudy, which meant that the mysterious power of the moonlight was blocked and she'd still have the luxury of being in her cursed form. Goody.

* * *

**OoOoO**

* * *

Zuko woke the next night with a few strands of moonlight pouring through the zippered opening of his tent. Excited, he tore back the flap and gazed at the slivers of pure moonlight sifting down through the sky. It was cloudy, but he would take it, especially since he could see that he was finally alone; nothing could slink around and track him in this light.

With rapid and practiced fingers, he tore down his temporary dwelling, wrapping the canvas covering around the poles to protect them while he traveled. When his shelter was packed, he was left squirming in the squally cold, fingers trembling as he picked through the remaining portions of his foodstuff. Three slices of frozen komodo-rhino jerky, seven bites of hard tack, and a few handfuls of mixed nuts and berries were all that remained. And sadly, just like he'd thought, the bunny that he had managed to capture the first day had been the only wildlife he had actually encountered.

He needed to hunt, and he'd need to do it today, while the light was strongest.

Zuko sighed, thinking about one more day of wasted travel time, but food was necessary. Eating was vital and he couldn't survive off the supplies he had left for much longer.

Fingers twitching with nervous anticipation, he set off at a brisk pace, wind nipping at the exposed quarter of his face. He thought about the traps he used to set with his grandfather and uncle, capturing small prey with skillful ease. But the snares that he had learned to make with them were crafted of supple wood and curved steel, and he didn't have those materials in the unforgiving tundra. So he'd have to stalk a creature, hopefully corner it so he could slice into it with his broadswords or impale it with his dagger, like the arctic hare.

He continued walking, his mouth watering with the thought of the bunny. Angi, he should have savored the creature, picked it completely dry and set some meat aside, cooked the bones in a pail of water until they boiled, creating a nourishing broth. He could've made a few meals out of the delectable creature; but instead, he'd picked as much as he wanted off and tossed the rest, thinking that he'd— _maybe_ —come across another one in the near future.

He hadn't.

Half the night passed, and as he walked, the landscape changed. The flat, barren land that he had just traversed shifted into jutting expanses, like a snow beast had gotten irritated and hurled thick, oblong shards into the glassy ground. Standing at the edge of the scenery, Zuko stared, puzzled and a little intimidated. The new setting looked treacherous and uneasy, almost mazelike, and he wondered how many hunters before him had gotten lost in the icy labyrinth.

With an annoyed snarl and a gruff exhale, he plodded onward, into the glassy mess. Even if he didn't find a critter in the new landscape, at least he'd be closer to the expansive mountainside since it was settled on the other side.

A few minutes of tireless hiking passed and he weaved through the humongous splinters, mittened fingers digging into his face covering as he walked in the blissful shafts of moonlight. In the maze, the wind was blocked and he wanted to breathe, wanted more of his face exposed. And when his face was completely bare—save the thick bandage surrounding his burned eye—he continued onward, gloves grazing the glasslike, colorful walls. The moon's heavenly light bounced off his parka and poured through the thick shards; the ice filtered it until all variations of crimson poured out the other side, littering the white ground with speckles of dull reds, dusty oranges, and murky yellows.

_It's beautiful_ , he thought, leaving a melted trail in his gloved hand's wake.  _Perfect_.

He continued traipsing, glancing hesitantly left and right as he wound through the labyrinth. He kept his gaze down and looked for animal tracks; but all he saw was the lofty snow from the last blizzard swirling about his booted feet.

When Zuko finally found the end of the labyrinth, he was a little disappointed. He hadn't found a single creature—hadn't even seen anything other than his own reflection bouncing off the pristine ice walls—and he clenched his fists, fearing that he would have to separate his rations into smaller portions. Like a single strip of meat per breakfast and dinner or a handful of nuts over lunch wasn't small enough, already.

He smacked the final ice wall and walked into  _another_ landscape. This one didn't look as horrid, though. There were small mounds of packed snow piled high in some areas, blocking his vision. But it was better than the maze and he aggressively lurched forward. The mountain was within his grasp, promising a cave where he could set up a small living area, a permanent yet temporary home until the summertime darkness finally ended or he killed the South's fabled beast. Whichever came first, though he hoped it was the latter.

Into the rolling hills of snow he went, keeping his face covering off and fighting through the nagging wind.

_What would Uncle do?_ Zuko thought when his stomach growled, protesting his small breakfast.  _He'd probably say something about the spirits and my own negative energy and—_

" _Arp arp arp!"_

The sound caught him off guard and he bristled, left arm at his hip, flicking the clasp of his dagger out so he could withdraw the weapon with ease. When he didn't hear anything else, he crouched and continued walking, keeping himself low and ready to pounce so he could put all of his body weight into his attack. But still, nothing made a noise.

Trying to be soundless, but listening to the frustrating sound of his boots clomping in the snow, he advanced, pulling his dagger out slowly. He rounded a small hill and stilled at the sight.

Right in front of him was a narrow pool of water; off to the side, two tiger-seals were clapping their paws, nipping at each other, and barking in hushed but rambunctious tones. Noticing that they were distracted with their play, Zuko continued forward, dagger in hand, ready to fling it when he was in range. And even though his boots were loud, the daft animals didn't hear him approach. So he crept closer, golden eye narrowing as he took aim.

The very instant he was close enough, the two tiger-seals stopped their play and jerked their noses skyward, sniffing the air greedily. They glanced at each other and immediately started waddling away, retreating toward the small pool. But before they made it, Zuko hurled his knife, impaling one and killing it instantly. The remaining tiger-seal continued to the puddle, disappearing with a graceful splash.

Satisfied with another good kill and the hopes of a decent dinner, Zuko took a few more steps before he was pushed aside and snarled at by the biggest wolf he'd ever seen.

* * *

**OoOoO**

* * *

She didn't know how it worked, but when the sky was cloudy and the full moon's light erupted from the sky in fragmented bursts, her curse remained. And even though she was usually pissed to be in her wolf form, she was grateful and delighted by it, now.

She inched forward, claws pricking the snow as she readied herself to attack her unsuspecting prey: a pair of frisky tiger-seals, stupidly playing in  _her_ territory. Gone for a few days and suddenly the dumbest creatures on the planet think they can invade her hunting ground without punishment.

Usually, she didn't like the taste of tiger-seal; they were fatty and hard to eat, usually requiring massive amounts of seasoning since they tasted like what they ate: slimy seaweed and rotten animals that they managed to scavenge from the bottom of the ocean. But she was desperately hungry, willing to eat even the worst lot of the food chain.

Ready, she snapped her jaws soundlessly and advanced, keeping herself close to the ground as she slowly inched forward.

And that's when she saw him, red parka glistening against the shifting moonlight, prowling close to her prey, seeking it as his own. Katara sniffed, undeterred, and crept around the pair of tiger-seals, making sure that she kept the firebending hunter in her sights. She was  _not_ going to let him scare off another meal. Not  _again_!

One paw in front of the other, hackles extended and ready to pounce, Katara patiently waited. The tiger-seals stopped their mindless chatter and looked skyward, finally catching her scent and knowing that they were in deep shit. She inhaled as their fear invaded the air. If she could've smiled, she would have.

But when the firebending hunter continued to shimmy forward, she frowned and snapped at him from afar. He couldn't sense her warning and he continued to advance, chucking his flimsy dagger at her meal as it barreled away. Katara flung herself past him, knocking him down and snarling. She chomped at him, loudly this time, cursing his very existence. She could've had  _two_ tiger-seals. And now, she was left with one.

Inept. Idiotic.  _Stupid_ Fire Nationer.

She growled and thought that he'd be intimidated by her aggressive form. But he stood firm, albeit a little shocked, until a sliver of fear corrupted his one-eyed gaze. Satisfied that the firebender wasn't as tough as she originally thought, she quickly turned around, grabbed the dead tiger-seal with her teeth—the hunter's dagger still lodged in its blubbery hide—and pranced off.

"H-hey!" she heard him scream, scrambling after her. "That's  _mine!_ "

She thought his shout was humorous and kept running, using her waterbending to cover her tracks so she could gorge on the dead animal's flesh until she was sated. And when she finally found a good location, a good bit away from her home, she sat and dug in, tearing apart the thick hide with gusto.

She didn't hear the footsteps, didn't understand how he could have tracked her down since her bending forms had been flawless, wiping the ground clean. She'd only heard the twirl of his twin blades as they looped in the air behind her.

_Swish. Swish. Swish._

* * *

**OoOoO**

* * *

"H-hey! That's  _mine!_ "

After the initial shock of such a large beast snarling at him, jaws aflame with its hostile rage, Zuko followed, sprinting full-force after the giant, white wolf. Somehow, the mangy creature managed to sweep up its tracks; he didn't know how it was able to do this and payed it no mind, instead continuing forward with his unwavering determination, boots thumping through the snow.

He wasn't angry about the meal; he'd find another…eventually. But the dagger was given to him by his grandfather during their last outing, after they'd killed a platypus-bear in the middle of the Earth Kingdom. It was valuable sentimentally and he couldn't let the beast run off with it. Not when it was the only thing he had left of the man.

Agni must have been shining down on him because as he rounded one curious mound, he stooped low and unsheathed his dao swords.

The wolf was feasting on his kill, maw bloodied and flesh dribbling down its chest. It was gorging, unaware of his approach, unaware that he had managed to follow it. He spun his swords, alerting the animal, respectful; giving it an honorable, fighting chance like he'd been taught by his Uncle Iroh.

_Swish. Swish. Swish._

The beast paused its hearty consumption and turned, red-coated teeth barred and hackles extended, ready to rip him to pieces.

Another threatening twirl of his swords. A warning.

The clouds dispersed overhead and the wolf stopped its snarling and started whining, its pathetic moans hard to miss. Curious, Zuko watched the monster suffer. The unhindered moonlight shone down and the beast's form twisted in the light. The white hair on its head turned brown, its extended jaw crunched back into a human nose, and arms and legs shed their fur and exposed tan, quaking skin.

And suddenly, crouching before him wasn't a beast. It was…a  _girl_. A  _naked_ girl.

Zuko gasped at the strange sight but didn't sheath his blades.

The beast—no,  _she_ —brought a trembling wrist to her chin and smeared the blood off her lips. After the blood was wiped away, she hesitantly shifted her head up to look at him, study why he hadn't advanced while she was incapacitated. Her cerulean eyes sprang up and locked onto his gold.

And slowly, she stood, unfazed by her nudity.

Zuko could only stare, eye wide and unblinking…before she ran off, sending a wild flurry of snow in his direction, blinding him. When he managed to open his eye, she had vanished, all evidence of her gone save the dead tiger-seal torn to shreds, his grandfather's dagger still sticking out of its eye socket.

Cautiously, he sheathed his dao, reached down, and dislodged the dagger. He looked down at the remnants of his kill but could only think of one thing: she had blue eyes; cerulean eyes...like the ones in his dream. What did that mean?


	4. The Deal

He barged into the bar— _his_  bar—filled with wall-hangings and mounts, beasts of all sizes fit snuggly around an expansive hearth, his past kills hung as trophies, tongues sticking out, teeth bared, and eyes glassy; stuffed for his pleasure and hung for his visual delight.

Stools were lined up in front, an ass or two fit comfortably around the bar, patrons drinking heavily, white froth lining their jaws and trailing down their beards. The customers glanced at him as he advanced, hoisting their beverages and toasting his entrance. He offered them a nonchalant smirk and passed the tables littering the space in between the bar and the door. A lonely barmaid flitted around, taking orders and filling pints of ale—a pretty face in a not so pretty bar—while the bartender stood behind the counter, rag in hand and polishing the steel mugs, his face grim and goatee bundled tightly in a worn out, elastic band. He gave a calloused nod that the intruder returned, grin still spread across his face. At the other end of the room, a fire roared, unbridled and threatening, warming the little tavern even though the temperature outside was practically stifling.

The bayside breeze from the opened door flicked to the fire, stoking it, feeding it until the man loomed closer, breathing steadily and nurturing it in a much more different way. The blaze burst higher with each inhale until it charred the creature turning on the spit, nearly burning the youth who was cranking the lever on the side.

"Out of the way,  _boy_ ," the man spat, shooing the child away with a hard shove and hurling him face first into the stone wall. The boy fled, mouth bleeding and a tooth missing, and the man lurched forward, nose crinkling, sniffing the burning meat. Satisfied with the scent, he licked his lips, one tongue swish from left to right, flicking over a small bruise cracking his bottom lip, the remnant from a scuffle a few days ago.

"Smells good," he boomed, straightening his back, standing proud and tall. His uniform glistened in the ever-growing firelight, a satisfied look clouding his face and cresting under his prominent facial hair.

" _Admiral Zhao!"_ the barmaid cooed, shuffling closer and leaning forward a little as she neared, exposing the expansive swell of the cleavage hiding in her pink, low-cut tunic.

Zhao leered at the young maiden, his hazel eyes hungrily taking in the push of her shoulders as she tried to accentuate her curvaceous form. The girl was always a little forward and he would never turn down such a view, especially when she was so  _desperate_ to stand out in a crowd. Growing up with six identical sisters made the girl extraordinarily flirtatious, and he had taken advantage of her teasing fingers and mouth on more than one occasion. Though, she  _never_ allowed him what he truly wanted: a glorious visitation to her tight snatch, her legs wrapped around his as he thrust deep into her, destroying her for all future lovers and claiming her like one of the animals he itched to hang on his wall. She'd never let him do such a thing, always promising that she was "saving herself." For what, he didn't know, but he had enough sense to leave her alone since her blowjobs were magical. Whatever she did with her tongue was practically pornographic and to keep that simple pleasure, he'd let her keep her maidenhead…until he got bored.

"Ty Lee," he smiled, lips curling dangerously on either side with his feigned delight, fingers twitching for the feel of her soft and pouty lips wrapped around his girth, "how nice."

"Welcome back." Her greeting was bubbly, like usual, and her braided ponytail flipped while her brownish-grey eyes closed slightly, face content. "Where've you been? I missed you."

Her flirty eyes opened and there was a classic puppy-dog pout on her face. Agni, he wanted those lips elsewhere. Maybe after he bought her a few rounds and got her a little sloppy, he'd have her  _nether_ lips, too. But now wasn't the time to think of such things, he had other intentions for being back at his favorite shithole of a bar. And, after fighting his sexual aches, the smile on his face disappeared and he sat down at a table, swiping a few speckles of breadcrumbs off the surface. "I've been in the Earth Kingdom, doing some research."

Ty Lee ambled closer, her soft-soled shoes padding against the roughened wood floor. She leaned down, chest still puffed out. "Oh! What kind of research?"

He looked at his scuffed knuckles and rubbed them against his armored chest. "The boring kind, unfortunately."

"Learn anything?"

"Oh yes. I learned quite a lot."

"Sounds like it was a good trip, then. Did you sunbathe? I always like lying out in the sun, letting the day go by. Swimming suit with the ties undone, of course." A heavy-lidded, sexually-charged glance. "Don't want tan lines, ya know?"

"Mmmm," Zhao hummed.  _So coy_. He'd pay a newly-minted gold piece to see that pale flesh against a yellow, sandy beach. But she would have to be naked,  _silent,_  and shimmering, her finger curling—urging him to come hither—while she basked in the sunlight to make it worthwhile.

"Did you want to order anything?"

"Get me the hind flank of that koala-sheep and a pint. Be hasty, too. I'm expecting a guest."

Her head bobbed and she stuck out the tip of her tongue. "Female?"

Intrigued by her sudden jealousy, Zhao's left eyebrow skyrocketed. "Oh yes. Pretty, too."

Ty Lee  _hmpf_ ed and put her hands on her hips. "Prettier than—" She tossed her head back and fluttered her eyelids, puffing out her chest even more and exposing a fair portion of her breasts, nipples almost slipping out of her bindings. "—me?"

Zhao growled and didn't hide the fact that he was staring at her breasts. Oh yes, he'd have her tonight; he'd make sure of it. Even if he had to hold her down like he did to the women in the Earth Kingdom. He shook his head and stewed. If only the Fire Nation's ridiculous laws were a little more lenient...

"Don't know. I've never met her in person before, so I suppose we'll both find out together."

She seemed appeased and sashayed away, hips twisting left and right as she drifted closer to the fire. Zhao breathed and the flames surged, the heat from the inferno making her skin subtly sweaty as she cut away a decent portion of the koala-sheep. When she returned, her breasts looked blushed and sticky, a perfect coloring and texture for two of the Fire Nation's most-coveted mounds of pert flesh.

"You know," she nervously remarked, scooting his plate across the table, her cheeks flushed. "I turned eighteen while you were away. Legally eligible to get marr—"

"No," Zhao grumbled, eyes slit and glaring at the significantly younger—and suddenly amusingly childish—woman. Yes, he'd had his fair share of the coquettish maiden's lips and hands, but he had no intention of asking for her hand, no matter how much he led her on. He wanted her curvaceous form—craved it enough to say silly things while he blossomed with ecstasy—but his dreams were filled with another pair of seductive eyes: a blue-tinted pair. Cerulean, like the color of the ocean he so desperately cherished.

And besides, even if he  _wanted_  to marry the chirpy eighteen-year-old, he'd be told to get lost by her father; he could pine until his throat bled, bragging about his naval prowess and ability to provide, showcase his wall of trophies and  _still_ , her father would toss him out of his noble estate, ashamed.

"But Daddy will—"

" _No,_ he won't."

Always hopeful eyes glistened with faint tears, puppy-dog pout trembling. Truthfully, he hated putting her down, but it was necessary. He was…disgraced.

Though he had plenty of naval victories, people only seemed to remember how he had crawled home five years ago from his trip to the Southern Water Tribe, almost dead and moaning. Nobody understood how wickedly cold it was in the tundra; nobody knew what he had done to survive or how the new moon siphoned away practically all of his energy. Two months, that was how long he had lasted. Two months…that was how long he had  _survived_.

He should've been jovial with his endurance; all of the hunters that had gone South after him died within the first month, right after the first new moon. And obviously, they never returned. He was the only firebender who had gone and come back, even if it was a few months earlier than expected.

But in the Fire Nation, his quick return—his  _survival_ —was a viewed as a scandal, a disgrace, a royal  _dishonor_. To the nobility in his nation, he should've died in the Southern tundra like the honor-bound warrior he had sworn he was. But he wasn't ready to surrender his life to the gods. Not yet, and certainly not  _there,_ surrounded by  _snow—_ his rival element—as it coated the ground all around his dying frame. Instead, he crawled home, disgraced. And he'd spent the past few months tirelessly working on a way to regain his lost honor.

After a lengthy recovery, he spent his free time studying,  _researching_ about the South's fabled yet very real, cursed beast. Going to horrible places to find ancient textbooks detailing the intricacies of the magical ailment. And  _finally,_ after a full year of searching in the Si Wong Desert, he found it: Wan Shi Tong's library,  _filled_ with every article imaginable; overflowing with secrets and weapons, knowledge and power. Bursting with items from long ago, crafted to contain old magic and kill mythical creatures. Boxes, spells, swords, and shields, each one cursed in their own cryptic way, promising greatness but asking for souls in return. And after searching through the entire library, he discovered the information he needed, and he vowed to use it as soon as he was able. As soon as his expected guest gave him the final few necessities to begin his next hunt.

Zhao started eating, his mouth watering with the taste of succulent, spiced meat, and he looked up. Ty Lee was pouting again and he stifled an irritated groan.

"All of my sisters—even my  _little_  sister—have all been asked. And I've managed to turn down every other suitor so far. I'm waiting for you, Zhao." She sat down on the chair nearest him, squeezing her tits together so tightly that the flesh puckered out her shirt. Always a tease to everybody, but only truly interested in him. Flattering.

Her lips creased into a rare frown, waiting.  _He_  was why she had taken the serving job at the bar; just so she could see him…sitting there, face scowling at his trophy wall, looking dapper and handsome as the fire crackled in front of him. Masculine. Like the provider she always wanted, but never got; somebody to take care of her— _only_  her—and lavish her with tales of his travels, beautify her with jewels from all across the world. Lick the sweat from her skin after a passionate bout of heated lovemaking, something she'd been saving herself for. Marriage…to him.

She didn't need to work, especially in this shithole of a bar. With her skillset, natural-born good looks, and family ties, she didn't need to lift a finger to get what she wanted, but Zhao was here. And he was insanely traditional and stubborn, all about old-fashioned titles and petty things like honor. She didn't care about things like that; she fawned over him even after he had come back from the South, battered and rambling about a horrid she-beast, an attractive monster crafted to seduce and then kill. She had cared for him when nobody else had, goaded his ego and stroked his dick until he was back to normal. A little irritable and mouthy, but just how she liked him.

Though, while she was building him back up, sucking on his cock and allowing him to twist her perky nipples, she knew that his mind was elsewhere, on his failed expedition and stewing over his loss. And after all her time and effort healing him, he had concluded that a trip to some unknown place in the Earth Kingdom would quiet his agitated thoughts. That was a year ago, a whole twelve disheartening months. Three hundred and sixty-five days of pure torture.

And now, he was back…waiting for another woman, leaving her pushed aside and forgotten, fantasies of a magical wedding night filled with all the coital bliss he had promised over the years dwindling away.

Ty Lee sighed and waited for him to do something—do anything other than consume his meal. And when he looked up again, she beamed, ever hopeful.

"My ale?" he questioned, tone scathing rather than playful.

She squeaked and pushed back her chair, wood legs screeching against the dull, wooden floor. She disappeared behind the counter and poured the officer a heady drink, carefully scraping the bubbling top with a dull knife. Froth ran down the side of the tankard and she carried it expertly to him, still trying to expose more and more of her skin, trying to keep him intrigued and talking. Like how he used to be, before his trek southward…before he encountered that fabled Southern Beast. Before he was  _obsessed_.

"How is everything?" Ty Lee chirped, bouncing on her heels with her arms laced behind her back.

"Fine."

"Can I get you anything else?" She eyed the dribble of fat on his chin and smiled. "A napkin? Another piece of meat? A—"

"Silence," he suggested, rubbing his shining chin with the back of his hand, table etiquette forgotten.

"Oh, I um…okay." She bit her trembling bottom lip and sauntered away, eyes down and disappointed. She ambled about, busing clean tables until they sparkled, occasionally flicking a hopeful glance in Zhao's direction, thinking that he'd grow tired of eating or waiting for his guest and instead request her company. Pull her to the back room so he could unzip his pants and demand a bit of her oral magic. Untie her shirt so he could cup her breasts, whisper sweet words in her ears, and beg for more than fingers or a mouth, pleading for a bit of vaginal intercourse.

And right now, though it pained her dearly, she'd probably let him.

Ty Lee sighed one more time, love-struck, and the door opened. An armored figure walked in, standing tall and regal, shoulders back and thickly padded with glittering, crimson steel. The barmaid instantly recognized the familiar face and she pulled her clenched fist to her mouth to stifle her gasp.

 _She_ was Zhao's guest?

 _But...what could_ she  _want?_

* * *

**OoOoO**

* * *

The villages outside of the Fire Nation's royal Caldera City were dingy, filled with pests, and overburdened with poor people who groveled on street corners. Why the man she was seeking enjoyed this part of the nation, she didn't know, nor did she care to ask. Instead, she expected to keep her visitation short and to the point. Brief. That way, she wouldn't get caught running around such a sorry excuse for a town. She wanted to return to the palace in record time, to her handmaidens for a royal hair washing. For an entire day filled with relaxation and pampering, just how she liked to spend her Sunday afternoons.

 _Not_ in the slums of Volcano Bay without a canister of disinfectant or her staff of skilled guardsmen to keep away the beggars' grasping hands, even though she didn't need them. One swift, electrified zap and those hands would retract quicker than they were extended, groans and whimpers filling the air as she continued down the road.

Shaking her head at one paltry beggar, she ambled onward, like she owned the streets; well, technically, she  _did_ , but not entirely…yet. When she was Fire Lord, she would rule over every square inch of the nation, and at her command, she'd have the uneven cobblestones of Volcano Bay torn asunder and redone until they were flawlessly aligned and squared off. Pristine, like her. Because right now, the small squares were occasionally uprooted or lifted, some sunken into the earth so puddles could form, harboring disease and making her journey treacherous without her royal palanquin.

Even though her footing was hazardous, she was bred to be dignified— _perfect_. And she could traverse such horrid terrain with ease, unlike her brother, who would've landed flat on his face in a matter of a few hesitant and quaking steps. So weak, little Zuzu was; so pathetic and useless, a horrible hindrance to his nation. But he was gone, now. Banished and unable to come home— _couldn't_ come home. Not when things were going her way, not when she was next in line for the throne. Not when she was so  _close_.

All of her plans— _years_  of diligent scheming without her father, mother, or uncle knowing—were suddenly coming to a glorious apex, and she needed her stupid brother far away and ousted, never able to return. And for now, he was. But she needed to be  _sure_ that her miserable excuse of a sibling's quest was unattainable. And the man she was meeting would give her the reassurance that she so desperately required.

With a dignified huff, Princess Azula located the bar—his preferred establishment to conduct business—and walked inside, using her left elbow to open the door lest germs infect her senses and drive her slowly insane. And when the door swung closed behind her, she bristled, staring at a pair of brownish-grey eyes, the irises of an old friend blinking with surprise. But she paid the ex-friend—and now harlot, apparently—no mind and continued to her target: the apelike man sitting at a table, arms wrapped around his chair and staring evilly at the fire he was controlling with the pulls of his breath.

She stood in front of the once-revered hunter and officer, arms crossed and appearing nonchalant and slightly bored, like she was burdened with the trip even though she was the one who had requested the meeting.

"Admiral Zhao, I assume?" she questioned, peering at her left hand and admiring her red-lacquered manicure.

"Princess Azula," he nodded, voice equally uninterested.

The Fire Nation's esteemed princess took the nearest seat and folded her arms across the grubby tabletop, clasping her hands together with dignified manners. She put on her most charming smirk and puffed out her red-painted lips, thinking that her appealing face would pick away the gruff officer's harsh exterior. "I've done a fair bit of research on you."

"Have you, now?" Zhao asked, a cruel smile tugging the ends of his lips. He was a little intrigued with the girl in front of him—had been curious with the invitation from the get-go, actually. And now that the nation's prodigious gem of a princess was sitting across from him, he couldn't help but play hard to get, especially when she seemed so frantic to meet him. "And why's that?"

"Your naval record is unparalleled."

Zhao frowned and tilted his head to the side, evaluating the princess's expressions. Was his naval experience seriously all that she was interested in? Was this just a simple meet and greet? He had expected so much more from her. And to be honest, he was a little disappointed in the girl; maybe she wasn't the conniving youth that the imperial court made her out to be. Maybe she was just a lost fangirl, swooning over one of her nation's triumphant victors.

He took a sip of his ale, smooshing his lips together to clear away the foam. "I know."

Azula's golden eyes flashed, amused. Like she expected, the officer was full of himself. Cocky and arrogant, but rightfully so since he had a fair number of illustrious nautical successes under his glimmering belt.

"I'm impressed with—"

"You know," Zhao interrupted, tongue swishing across his busted lip, "I thought that you'd be more interested in my  _other_ experiences. The southern ones, in particular...with your brother down there and all…" He shrugged and smirked a knowing, calculated flourish of polished teeth.

Humored with the interruption— _nobody_ had the gonads to interrupt her…ever—she smiled and nodded. "Oh, yes,  _yes_ , I've heard about your…beast." A wave of her perfectly manicured hand, a gesture that made him growl and narrow his eyes, perturbed. "I know all about your…disgrace, too."

Another rumble and a hasty swig from his tankard. "Come to meet the  _failure_ , then?" he snarled.

"Oh no, Admiral," she cooed, batting her molten eyes, "I've come to meet the  _survivor._ A failure is somebody who has given up. But you haven't, now, have you?"

Zhao puckered his lips and pressed his back against his chair, narrowing his eyes even more. Besides admitting his travel plans to Ty Lee—keeping out the more important details, of course—nobody knew that he had planned on going to the Earth Kingdom to find a hidden library, to discover information about the South's monster. Nobody knew that he was planning on returning to the Southern Water Tribe for next year's hunt, armed with the material he had gathered, finally ready to claim the prize that was rightfully his. So, how did the princess know about his antics?

He looked smug. "No, I haven't."

"Good," Azula said, smile spreading across her face. "Good."

"What's the purpose of this meeting?"

"This…monster," she sighed, leaning forward a little bit and pressing her index finger to the side of her lips, slowly tracing the edge. "It actually exists?"

"Yes."

"And you've faced it?"

A simple shrug, like he  _hadn't_ almost died. "Yes."

Azula tried adopting a flirtatious expression, something that she knew the barmaid glaring at the back of her head had perfected in refinery school. It worked—at least a little. Making the hardened officer across from her raise his left eyebrow, titillated with her novice attempts.

"And you survived."

Zhao gave her a disrespectful snarl—something that normally would've gotten him flogged. But Azula required his peculiar know-how and unbridled ambition, and she pushed the cheeky noise behind her. " _Obviously_."

"Hmmmm." The princess leered at the disrespectful excuse of a man and patted her cheek, waving her hand in the air, signaling for the barmaid's attention.

Ty Lee was at the table in an instant, eyes flicking from her crush to her former friend. "P-P-Princess," she stuttered, "can I get you something?"

"Ty Lee." Azula's voice was smoother than the finest silk. "What's a nobleman's daughter doing serving swill in the lower ranks of Caldera—in  _Volcano Bay,_ at that? Surely, your father hasn't fallen so low. We went to school together, learned arithmetic and high-class dining together. Why are you here instead of entwined around a bachelor lord's arm?"

Ty Lee bit her lip and shrugged. "The universe was giving me strong hints that it was time for a change, and I—"

"So you're  _not_ interested in ensnaring this shamed officer, then? Good, because it would be beneath you. Even a middle-born child with a plethora of siblings like you deserves a nobleman, a young lord with a respected title and enough land for you to cartwheel on until you've fainted."

The usually chipper girl fidgeted and looked nervously between the pair sitting at the table.

" _Go away,_ Ty Lee," Zhao sneered, thrusting his empty cup into her arms. "Get me another pint."

The brown-haired girl yelped and ran behind the counter. She hurriedly filled the mug and deposited it back on the admiral's table, froth bubbling over the top and making a tacky mess. She quickly returned to her spot behind the counter, wedged in a corner, but still listening intently to the conversation.

"And the purpose of that was…?" Zhao grumbled, displeased.

Azula smirked. "She seems to like you. And I felt the need to remind you that you're nothing, Zhao." His nose wrinkled. "You're a nobody who has spent your entire fortune hunting a beast—capturing a  _myth_. Do you think that you deserve a good girl like Ty Lee? Do you think that you'd be welcomed at her father's estate, pining for her hand?"

The officer leaned forward and kept his voice low. "What makes you think I even  _want_ a blithering idiot like her? She's good for a romp or two, but she's not long-term material. And I'm not  _pining_ for a wife."

"It's just an example, Zhao. Just one illustration of the many things that you can't attain while disgraced. You can hardly take a step in the upper ranks of Caldera without injury." She admired his busted lip and shredded knuckles. "Not with shame marring your otherwise flawless reputation." A coy smile splayed across her lips. "Aren't you tired of getting continuously jilted by even the flightiest of birds?" Her golden gaze flicked to Ty Lee. "Aren't you ready for  _more_?"

"I can get 'more' whenever I damn well please."

"Can you, really? Because I can offer you redemption. Fame, power, and wealth. All the women you could possibly desire. All the things that you gambled away while searching for your monster's weaknesses. I can get you everything you've lost. Immediately, too, if you wish."

Confused but interested, Zhao stared. "What's the catch?"

"I need you to go to the Southern Water Tribe again. I need you to slay the beast before my brother manages to do the impossible."

A curt laugh escaped the officer's throat. "Prince Zuko won't even survive the first month. I heard about the terms of his banishment shortly after I got back, and his weak ass will be dead by the next new moon, guaranteed."

Azula stiffened with his callous words. "I need to make sure, Admiral."

Zhao rolled his hazel eyes and sighed. He brought his tankard to his lips and then put it back down, suddenly not thirsty. "Then why don't  _you_  go?"

"Reputation," she said. "I'm supposed to be here,  _not_ in the squalor of the South. Here, ruling alongside my father.  _Not_ outright gunning for my poor brother's birthright."

"So you want me to risk  _my_ neck… _my_ life?"

"Of course. But don't forget about my hearty payment for your inconvenience."

Zhao's lips twitched, contemplating her proposition.

While he was thinking, Azula stood. "I know that you're planning on attending the hunt next year, anyway. I was just giving you more of an…incentive to complete the task that is rightfully yours  _this year_. And just think, Zhao. Think of the ramifications of your absence. What if little Zuzu somehow manages to capture the beast and returns home before summer is over, leaving you forever disgraced and rejected. What would you  _do_?" She took a few steps and turned her head, golden eyes slit. "I'll give you the afternoon to mull over my offer. Make haste, because I can find somebody who'll be willing to undertake this task in a  _heartbeat_. You just seemed like the best fit."

Her metal boots scuffed the wooden floor while she leisurely made her way to the door. So slow, expecting him to interrupt her departure. And when the sound of his gruff voice broke the silence, she couldn't help but maliciously grin.

"Wait," the officer boomed, sliding his chair back with a shrill scoot. Azula turned, a bored look plastered on her face to hide her glee. "I'll do it. But I want a few things, first."

"Equipment? You can have whatever you need. Make a list and I'll get it to you by the morning."

He tsked and waved his meaty hand. "We'll talk about my supplies later. For now," Zhao licked his lips and turned to Ty Lee, a predatory smirk outlining his face, "I want  _her_."

The barmaid stopped breathing and held her cleaning rag tightly, eyes wide. Listening intently and growing frightened by his tone.

"Well," Azula said with a carefree shrug, "that's for her to decide."

"And if she declines, I want all charges brought up against me dropped. If I'm going south again, I want happy,  _heated_  memories to warm my chilly nights."

The princess glanced to her former friend and her lip twitched, a little displeased with the proposition. Unfortunately, her childhood playmate had fallen for the wrong kind of man, as usual. "I  _don't_ want Zuko to return to the Fire Nation, Zhao. Promise me that you will hinder my brother's success at all costs and kill the beast before he can."

"Of course."

Azula nodded, satisfied. She looked at Ty Lee and frowned. "Be gentle, she's an old friend of mine." With that, she extended her hand and they roughly shook, deal made.

And when the Fire Nation's prodigal daughter finally left the tavern, a smug smile on her face, Zhao turned to his flirtatious waitress, eyes alight with his desire. "My house is a twenty minute walk from here. Get your stuff, it's going to be a fun night…for me."

While Ty Lee whimpered and slowly walked around the counter, the disgraced officer could only think of the Southern monster's human, cerulean eyes, how they had glared at him, defiant and not yet ready to die. He thought about how close he was to killing her,  _destroying_ her. And he couldn't wait to see those ocean-like irises one more time, bursting with tears and begging him for the sweet solace of death.

Because...after he was through with her, she would  _plead_.


	5. The Hunter's Hesitation

_Stupid, stupid, **stupid**_! Katara ran through the moonlit wilderness, pushing her two-legged, human body as fast as she could go, tossing large swaths of snow behind her as she fled. She rubbed at the smear of blood on her face, scolding herself mid-stride. She had just  _stood_ there! Waiting for him to strike her down like an  _idiot!_  Like she was practically  _begging_ for death when she most assuredly wasn't. How could she have done something so insanely foolish, so ridiculously dangerous? She could've  _died_! He could've  _killed her_!

She shook her chocolate-matted head. No, no.  _She_ would've been the one to do the killing.  _She_ would've torn into him, in cursed form or not, chomping down on his neck with her lengthened teeth or slicing through him with a cracking water whip, catching him wholly off guard.  _He_ was the one who would've died. Not her. Not her.  _Definitely_ not her.

Right?

She shook her head once and then twice more, trying to purge her brain of her twisted thoughts. But they kept coming, swirling about her mind like the snow before her. She could've died. No! She wouldn't have died. No, no. He would've.  _He would've._

Yes! That firebender would've perished. Katara gritted her teeth and continued thinking, breath clouding her stunted, human vision as she ran through the equally-blinding snow. Why would that hunter have died instead of her? Well, how about the fact that he was  _insane_ , going after her the way he did—chasing after her  _wolf_ form! Confronting her while her teeth were bared, more than ready and willing to rip him apart if he advanced any further. What an idiot! What a  _moron_! And all for that tasteless, disgusting piece of blubber; obviously not worth the price of his life—obviously not worth painfully and disgustingly dying by her merciless jowls. What kind of a person—what kind of a  _hunter—_ was he, anyway?

Maimed—left side of his face almost  _completely_  covered by bandages—sight obstructed, freezing, hungry, desperate, and maybe a little bit frightened. Yet still, he had dashed after her, screaming,  _"Hey, that's_ ** _mine_**!" Like that made a difference; like she even gave a damn what he  _thought_ was his or not.

Everything in this wasteland belonged to  _her_. Not him! Not some stupid firebender who couldn't even catch his own goddamned dinner.  _Her._ Like it had been for the past decade.

_She_  was the rightful Princess of the Southern Water Tribe—the self-appointed ruler of the wasteland.  _Everything_ was hers. Hers to protect, hers to scour, hers to command. That tiger-seal wasn't his to claim. He had no right

More irritated and confused than before, Katara refocused on the ground beneath her frost-covered toes and continued sprinting, bounding over the jutting, snow-covered hills, making sure that her footing was flawless since the ground in this particular area was very dangerous, always opening up and swallowing unaware humans and animals. She'd seen it happen a few times over the years, pleased when a hunter suddenly disappeared but royally pissed when her dinner unexpectedly vanished. And even though she had almost two decades of experience with the South's wicked, challenging terrain, she needed to be vigilant. Not distracted with the thoughts of that fool.  _Not distracted._

So she ran, eyes down and glancing up every once and a while to make sure that she was still aiming for her mountain, making sure that she was paying dutiful attention in order to predict any sort of unexpected event: a random hunter she couldn't smell or see from far away, a sudden chasm erupting in the earth, or a sardonic predator, eager to take advantage of her dainty, exposed frame. Careful, like she had to be while in her suddenly-inconvenient human form.

And then, just when she least expected it, it happened.

_Snap! Crackle! Screech! Scaaaaaape!_

The ice underfoot shifted and cracked, forcing Katara to sprint faster, trying to outrun the growing fissure. Only a few more steps and she'd be free and clear, but a hazardous gust of icy wind crashed into her left side and pushed her to the right, directly into the lengthening crevice. She fell toward the gaping cut in the ground, grasping mindlessly at the unhelpful air in her haste to regain proper footing. And then—with a scream lodged in her throat that she forcibly shoved down, lest her position be known to the  _entire_ tundra—she tumbled directly into the opening, fingernails barely catching the sharpened cliff side.

Blood poured out of her shredded hands, making the icy crag slippery, yet strangely sticky. And while struggling with her sudden wounds, she cussed… _loudly_  (fuck it if some _thing_ heard her). She cursed her element for betraying her when she was in a rush to return to her mountain, cursed her sour luck when she was trying to return to her safe haven, and cursed her suddenly aching and crazily-cold fingers. And when her destroyed and nearly frozen hands trembled against the cliff, threatening to let go—naked legs dangling, bare feet trying to find a proper toehold against the cliff—she released the precipice with a snarl and swiped her tired arms up, drawing a thick tendril of water in the direction she needed it to go, thrusting her entire body upward and over the deepening fissure.

_Snap! Snap! Creeeeak!_ And the ground that she was just holding on to crumbled, disappearing into the seemingly never-ending abyss.  _Crash! Thump!_ Maybe not as never-ending as she had anticipated.

Holding onto her knees and panting erratically a good three feet away from edge of the chasm, Katara steadied her breathing and smirked, knowing that she had  _just narrowly_ escaped death. And if she was counting correctly, this was the second time in one day. A new record. Fantastic.

Still doubled over, she allowed herself a few much-needed seconds to settle and think, clear her mind of the firebender's odd behavior and ponder over her latest chance meeting with death.  _Stupid ice_.  _Stupid,_ _ **stupid**_ _firebender!_ And when she was finally calm—frozen, agitated inhales no longer destroying her crippled lungs—she listened to the soft pitter patter of snow. And then…to the harsh  _crunch, crunch, crunch_ of hastily-approaching footsteps.

Unsure who or what was following her—uncertain if she could even  _afford_ to risk another close encounter with death—she looked ahead, saw that her mountain was so very close, mumbled a nearly incoherent, "Fuck it," and full-out sprinted across the tundra. Homeward bound.

* * *

**OoOoO**

* * *

Zuko stood rooted directly in front of the dead tiger-seal, mulling over everything that had just seen. He flipped his dagger around and around in his hand, thinking, trying so very hard to understand. But he just…didn't.

He bit the side of his chapped bottom lip and chewed, pulling off worn skin, nibbling on his own flesh and consuming it without question; a nervous tick that appeared shortly after his grandfather's mysterious murder, brought under the court's merciless scrutiny thanks to his gossipy sister, and frowned upon by his father and mother. Thankfully tolerated by his uncle, though. He didn't know what he'd do if Uncle Iroh pushed him away because of his unusual behaviors. And even though his uncle stomached such a disgusting habit, he always tried to stop, telling himself that a proper and respectable future Fire Lord didn't nervously nibble on his bottom lip.

With a grumble, he hesitantly halted his nervous impulse and focused on the bloody carcass in front of him, trying so very hard to avoid the image of those two pearly, floating pools of cerulean—those flawlessly blue eyes. The wolf's eyes— _her_ eyes.

Shaking his head, dispelling his curiously irksome thoughts, he knelt on the icy floor, leather-padded knees digging into the lukewarm, red puddle of the dead animal's blood. He expertly flipped his dagger one more time, catching it in his dominate hand, before he began hacking away at the flesh that had been feasted on by the wolf—girl— _wolf_ , getting rid of the tainted portions of his dinner.

And even though he tried insanely very hard to focus on his kill, his wayward thoughts always shifted to those blue eyes, defiant but oddly frightened. Over time, his vision became clouded with the image of her stiff and unexpectedly naked form reacting to the biting cold while the snow danced around her. Eerily pretty. Haltingly mesmerizing. Unforgettable.

He remembered how he had paused—like an  _idiot_ —gazing at her striking flesh in the moonlight, his golden eye flicking over her bloody jaw, hardened shoulders, and muscled arms. Glossing over mounded breasts, dusty-colored, pert nipples, and a pocket of fatty tissue just under her stomach, protected by chocolate-covered hair that was matted precariously like the strands on her head. Her long legs, toned and spry, ready to pounce—ready to fight without mercy and kill if need be. She had been  _about_  to kill, too…but instead, she paused, stood ever-so-slowly, and then fled.

She had turned on her heels so quickly that Zuko barely had time watch her flick her wrist and summon an enormous wall of snow to shield her nudity or her escape—he  _still_ wasn't quite sure which.

Her hasty departure told him an interesting tidbit. She was…a waterbender. And an odd one, at that. A human— _wolf_ —waterbendering…girl.

Zuko continued cutting, stewing over the existence of that strange girl—wolf— _girl._ She was the first being that he had encountered since the hunt began. And if he remembered everything correctly, all of the other hunters from the tent had been men. So…?

Was she—was  _that_ —what he was expected to hunt? Was she…the beast? The vile animal that targeted the Southern Water Tribe's populace and pillaged the village during the summer's darkest nights? The murderous monster who killed all—young and elderly, male and female, Earth Kingdom, Water Tribe, Air Nomad, Fire Nation, alike. The  _thing_ of stories, new and old, meant to terrify disbelieving, uncontrollable children before bedtime? The object he was meant to bring back to the Fire Nation so he could restore his hon—?

" _Arrg!_ " Zuko grumbled, cutting through his mitten, wholly distracted. Though he growled and pulled off his glove to inspect his now-damaged hand, he couldn't help thinking about…whatever had just happened. About  _her_. Reliving the moment over and over, trying to piece together every single bit of his memory. Trying to make sense of every moment between when he stupidly froze and she hastily fled.

One second, he was focused solely on his dinner—seeing  _only_ the tiger-seal. And the next, he was facing a wolf, snarling and desperate, ready to bite his face off, tear into him for the possession of the dead animal between them. Admittedly, he had been a little terrified (and he hoped he hadn't shown it) as he focused solely on the beast's snapping jowls—staring at all those sharpened, glistening teeth—before the moonlight suddenly tore through the clouds, forcing the wolf to whimper and sputter, whine unexpectedly when the shafts of pure light filtered down and across its tufts of unkempt, white fur.

He had chanced a quick glance skyward, and when his gaze returned to the wolf, it wasn't there anymore. In its place was her. Just…her. Tanned, naked skin shuddering in the frozen wind, blue eyes searching his golden one, waiting and perhaps wondering why he hadn't advanced. He could tell that she was silently questioning why he hadn't taken advantage of her situation, contemplating why he hadn't taken aim with his swords and struck her down. Swiftly attacked and killed her with a practiced flick of his blades. Claimed her as the prize he so desperately sought.

Truth be told, he just…couldn't. He was so caught up in the fact that he had been facing a snarling wolf and then a frightened, feral-looking girl that he simply froze up. And in that odd moment, a piece of him wanted to call out to her, clothe her chilled, bare skin with his parka, share the meal that they had just been fighting over, ask her  _what the hell was going on._  But he didn't do any of those things; instead, he just stood still and let his eye wander over her crouching and petite frame, taking in every single detail.

And instead of going on the offensive—throwing herself at him, perhaps tossing a hazardous stream of aggressive water whips in his general direction—she had used her waterbending abilities to cover her tracks. To  _flee_ in lieu of confronting him,  _fighting_  him.

How…odd. How very unlike the myriad of stories he'd heard from the Southern villagers of the beast's cruelty and mercilessness. A normal beast wouldn't have fled; it would have charged aggressively at its opponent and destroyed everything in sight without a second thought.  _Not_ run away.

Zuko bristled, mid-thought. What kind of beast was this, anyway?

With a lofty sigh, he sliced through the tiger-seal's tendons, making careful strokes to avoid bone, peeling the occasional swath of skin away from the edible portions. He tore off the strips of bloodied meat and layered them in the snow, spreading out the slices so the thick rivers of blood could filter off and congeal in the snow, away from the sections he planned on packaging.

He continued for a while, trying to estimate how much he could carry without it being too much of a hassle. Because, unfortunately for him, he couldn't take the whole thing with him; the entirety of the tiger-seal was undoubtedly heavy—probably weighing somewhere between two-and-three hundred pounds.  _Far_ too heavy for him to lug across the unforgiving tundra single-handedly, and definitely too cumbersome to carry the whole thing…anywhere. So he needed to cut away the edible portions, salvage what he could, and dispose of the rest. Take only what he felt comfortable enough carrying and leave the remaining bits for scavengers to find and consume after he was gone.

After a few minutes of careful butchering—when a decent portion was cut away, ten beautiful strips marbled with fat—Zuko wrapped up the chunks with a piece of spare cloth, shoved the bundle in his backpack, and hurled a good bit of snow into the pouch to keep everything cold during his trek. He shouldered his pack and started walking toward the mountain, boots once again making a horrible racket, announcing his arrival to anything with ears.

_Crunch, crunch, crunch._

* * *

**OoOoO**

* * *

_Crunch, crunch, crunch._

Sprinting full-force, the sound compelled her to peer into the snowdrift, squint into the blinding flurry. A shadow was rapidly approaching from behind, blocking out a portion of the moonlight, its huge figure lumbering dangerously close. Something big and burly, padding heavily in the crusty flakes, looming closer and closer with each footfall. Was it a threat?

Katara held her breath and then expelled it, a cloud of hot fog pouring between her lips.

It was just Akiak bounding playfully behind her, nose skyward and keeping his distance, sniffing the odd, unfamiliar scent of her human form. His presence was…comforting. Unwelcome, but definitely comforting. At least it wasn't the firebender, hot on her tail, hunting her down with his insane tracking knowledge.  _How_ he found her after she took the tiger-seal, using her waterbending to cover her footprints was downright freaky. And with an annoyed huff, she ambled along, slowing from a sprint to a jog, wrapping her arms around her naked torso and shivering as she did so. Teeth chattering.

Her forearms pressed tight against her breasts, tucking away the bits of exposed flesh and protecting her nipples from the harsh wind. Goosebumps lined her skin and she slowed to a walk, forcing herself to continue onward. Her feet felt frozen and were cut up, leaving a faint trail of blood in her wake; sheaths of ice embedded in the ground were as sharp as glass and the damage was debilitating. Frostbite would set in soon.

But the mountain—her  _home_ —was so close. She could practically feel the warmth of the furs lining her bed. So Katara continued tiredly, dragging herself through the snow, each footstep more painful than the last, brutally agonizing. Another mile and she'd be at the base of her home. Just one more mile and then, she could use her waterbending to bound up the mountain—lift her to safety.  _Home. Safe. Warm._ At last.

She blinked and collapsed to her knees, quaking in the cold. Her skin tingled with the constant chill and she felt a slobbery, icy muzzle press against her bare back. The wandering pup surrounded her in an instant, his off-white fur tenderly enveloping her, warming her. She nuzzled into Akiak's side, silently thanking the animal for his soothing embrace, wishing that she could tell him how thoroughly exhausted and freezing she was. Wishing so desperately that she could talk to him—talk to  _somebody._

So she whimpered into his ear and tried to tell him. Akiak seemed to understand her plight and nosed into her side, wedging his ridiculously large head into the seam between her arm and chest. It looked like he was trying to force himself under her—force her to ride him. So she scrambled onto his back and grabbed a chunk of his fur in either hand, burying her head deep into his shoulders to protect her face from the squally breeze. She felt immensely grateful for his persistence and presence, wondering how much he could truly sense. She pondered about the depth of their unusual bond. Animal-to-animal, they were nearly inseparable, almost knowing what the other needed without the faintest bit of communication. Human-to-animal was a new experience, and she couldn't wait to begin this strange journey. Hopefully, it would continue to be helpful.

Akiak set off at a brisk pace, jumping expertly over glassy shards, padded feet prancing silently against the snow. Katara pressed her knees into his sides, gripping him tightly as he bounced through the tundra with youthful ease. Thankfully, he knew exactly where he was going and managed to traverse the mile in a little less than four minutes. And when they finally made it to the base of the mountain, he peered upward and immediately started climbing, hurdling across dangerous piles of rubble, bypassing treacherous formations of loosely-compacted snow and rock. Slowly making his way to her cavern, where he knew she would be safe and protected.

Katara knew that he could smell it—her scent lingering in the air, guiding him to her home. And when he finally perched himself just outside her porthole, she wrapped her arms around him even more to hug him, swung her leg over his haunches, and gestured for him to follow her inside. The least that she could do was offer him a decent, warm shelter for the night.

He sniffed at her suggestion but followed, keeping his head down, ears perked up. Cautious. But once he lumbered inside, he quickly found himself a comfortable spot and circled before lying down, pressing his slobbery chin on top of his paws, eyes diligently watching his curiously different-shaped friend put on a strangely-assorted outfit.

Katara clumsily made her way to a shoddily-crafted chest filled with a few articles of mismatched clothes. She opened the squeaky lid and stared at the items she had salvaged from the hunters over the years, gazed longingly at the things she had managed to find during her short trips into the village. She huffed and shivered, fingers shakily pulling out a loose-fitting pair of leggings and a multicolored top that she had sewn together a few years ago.

Once dressed, she paced. Angrily. Almost fuming and thrashing her arms with her silent rage.

She could've died out there. All because she was hungry; all because she had stilled when the moon poured through the sky, tearing away her cursed form. She should have been more prepared. After surviving so long—after enduring so much—the way she had acted was silly, almost insane. And it was all because of that  _stupid_ firebender!

Curse him and his stupid swords. Curse him for pausing and making her hesitate. Curse him for making her flee instead of attack. Curse him for…for  _being him!_  For being  _there!_

The walls shuddered as she flailed, ice melting and then refreezing in odd, ultra-shiny swaths, moonlit shapes creating distorted patterns against the untouched far wall—the only section of her cavern that was stone. Harden, glimmer, melt, sparkle. The water moved as she paced, matching her jumbled emotions, morphing into all sorts of odd shapes.

And Akiak watched her, head lolling from one side to the other, ears still perked up and listening to her harsh inhales. Curious and naïve, as always.

Exhausted, she stopped pacing and slumped onto her bed, thinking about  _whatever_ had just happened, still miserable with the thought of that hunter, still angry with the fact that she almost died— _twice!_  And when she realized that fuming wouldn't help her, she took a deep, reassuring breath, and tried to clear her mind, hoping that a few moments of mediation would help her think.

It didn't. It just made her question everything more.

The moonlight poured through her peephole, coating everything in a glistening, frigid shine. Beautiful as it was, Katara stuck her tongue out at and crawled under her furs. She nestled deeper, closed her cerulean eyes, and huffed.

Why didn't he attack? Why didn't  _she_  attack?

* * *

**OoOoO**

* * *

By morning, Akiak left. She couldn't blame him; she  _was_ pretty upset, stomping through her cavern, loudly questioning the empty air with mind-numbing queries. Throwing her fists into the air, enraged with the silence—like she expected someone to actually answer her.

Katara curled tightly in her skinned hides, multicolored fur from so many different kills tickling her exposed forearms and ankles. She rubbed her face with the back of her hand and nuzzled deeper into the skins, trying desperately to stop her stomach from gurgling. Gosh, she was hungry. Those few, unenticing bites of the highly-sought-after tiger-seal hadn't done nearly enough to sate her wolfish appetite. And now, a few hours later, her stomach rumbled aggressively, starving.

Frosty fingers dove under her hides, clutching her grumbling stomach. She hoped that the touch would soothe, but it only aggravated, skin wiggling under the chilled pressure. A lofty puff escaped her lips and her hair flew around her face, landing delicately across her nose. She swiped the tendril away with her free hand and remained still, cerulean eyes darting around the darkness of her cavern, waiting.

_Gururlg. Gurulurgurlurg._

She rolled her eyes and sat upright. As much as she hated to admit it, she needed to hunt…again. But at least the mysterious power of the full moon would keep her transformation at bay. Well, at least until the moon started waning away again. Only then, would her body adopt its wolfish frame once more.

With two warm feet on the floor of her cave, Katara stood, stretched, and started to pull on her boots and parka. She tied her hair back into a messy braid and sulked to her peephole, staring out into the daytime darkness. It was an awful time to travel across the wilderness, but it needed to be done, lest she slowly starve to death.

_I hope he chokes on that horrible tiger-seal,_ she thought with a smirk.

* * *

**OoOoO**

* * *

It was gross. The tiger-seal may have looked like a normal piece of meat—streaked with fat and gorgeously butchered—but it tasted foul. Chewy and hard to swallow. And it left a dreadful taste in his mouth, something akin to rotten flesh or decaying seaweed. Honestly, he didn't know—mostly because he had never tasted either of those things before. He was just guessing.

Zuko slumped over the small coil of fire in his palm, ignoring the putrid smell of the sizzling meat and instead breathing in the warmth of the flame, letting the heat steadily spread over his body. He smacked his lips together and hoisted a handful of snow into his mouth, letting it melt against his tongue before swallowing. He missed simply  _drinking_  water, liquid sloshing against his lips as he tilted a cup. He missed the temperature of the Fire Nation, missed the sun. But he couldn't let thoughts like that continue to drag him down.

If he was diligent, if he encountered that wolf—girl— _wolf_ , again, he would capture or kill her. And then he would be blessed with a return trip home, honorable once more. All he needed to do was  _not_ freeze up again.

He continued chewing the flesh in his mouth until he jaw grew tired. With a sneer, he spit out the morsel and folded his arms across his chest. He'd need to hunt again, try to find something that  _wasn't_ as horrible as the tiger-seal. And with an annoyed huff, he wriggled out of his tent and started packing. He set off in the direction of the mountain, sure that the beast had fled in that direction, anyway.

And after a few minutes of haughty plodding, he found it—found  _her_. And he froze. This wasn't what he expected.

* * *

**OoOoO**

* * *

In the cover of darkness, one of them startled her.

She didn't know he was there—couldn't sense him in her human form—and he popped out unexpectedly from behind a glacier, a spear in hand and leveling the pointy end directly at her throat. Katara barely managed to tumble backward and avoid the dangerous tip before he brought it around and aimed once more. Another narrow miss.

Arms skyrocketing, she formed a watery barrier and froze a wall around the shaft of his weapon, deeply embedding it. He tugged aggressively before snarling and flipping out his dagger, enraged.

He rounded the barrier and lunged forward, forcing his opponent backward and down. Katara managed to barrel-roll into the snow on her side to avoid his blade. He sliced downward and caught her parka, cutting through the thick padding and smiling when he drew blood.

Katara clutched her bloodied arm and summoned the snow on the ground, twisting the flakes under his feet and destroying his stance. She whipped her elbow up and struck the hunter's exposed face with a cracking whip, slicing into his cheek, which forced him to swear a list of vulgar profanities. She jumped and parried, bringing her foot up and kicking a wild wave, shoving him back and dousing him with enough water to kill him within a few short minutes. Hypothermia would set in soon, and unless he fled—and fled  _now_ —he'd be risking his life.

Panting, the cursed waterbender released her injured arm and eyed the hunter who was now sputtering and shivering, wrapping his arms around his torso and rubbing his forearms up and down hurriedly, trying to get warm.

His green parka spoke volumes. Earth Kingdom. Probably middle Earth Kingdom, too. Not used to the cold climate and completely unaware of the effects icy water had on a human body while in a frosty tundra. Completely inexperienced.

Utterly unprepar—

Without warning, earthen spikes penetrated the air. A few managed to stab through her parka—stab through her upper chest and arms. The splintered rocks broke off when she tried to dislodge them. And as she pulled, the spikes went deeper, making her scream and squirm, spit with animalistic rage.

"Did you think I would come  _back_  without being properly prepared?"

It wasn't the green-clad man who spoke and Katara had to twist her neck uncomfortably to the side to see the man approaching. The red parka...those sideburns...

He was  _back_. And she was trapped.


	6. The Decision

Katara flailed as the earthen spikes dug deeper. The pain was extreme and though she wanted to bite her tongue and hold her screams like the warrior she was, she couldn't. Arms, torso, legs. Every bone was quaking, every muscle convulsing, and every nerve on fire. Everything  _hurt._ Immensely and unequivocally. Like nothing she had ever experienced before—in wolf or human form.

Fingers trembling, she tried to move her arms, will them to move  _her_ way, but they wouldn't. Even her toes—covered in thick boots and wholly unpenetrated—wouldn't wiggle with her encouragement. Each part of her was immobilized and she could only scream, feeling weak and helpless.

"Oh,  _please_ ," the side-burned, firebending hunter mocked, waving the pillows of her breathy fog from his face. "This was bound to happen eventually. Consider yourself lucky I want you  _alive._ "

He—Zhao of the Fire Nation, the self-described  _Beast Slayer_ —nudged his chin up and his earthbender companion bit the side of his cheek, focused on  _not_ shivering in his soaked parka, and elevated her six inches off the ground with his bending.

The sudden lift was agonizing. Her pain intensified ten-fold and she continued to wail, teeth exposed, foaming at the mouth and half snarling.

Until Zhao clocked her aside the head with an open fist; a slap, something garish and seemingly gloating in her misery.

"Hush," he urged, pinching the cleft of her chin with his thumb and forefinger. She halted her screams for a moment while she tried to bite at him, gnaw on his coarse fingers. But he was quick and he caught her chin with the palm of his hand, fingers digging into the empty space between her cheeks, clasping her jaw with enough force to break it. One swift twist and he could snap it apart. One swift twist and she'd be rendered mute with nothing more than gurgles for company.

Her scream died out, but it was replaced with tears. Thick and streaming, glittering.

Katara closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to force the tears back into her eyes. But the glistening specks wouldn't disappear—even with the encouragement of her waterbending. How cruel.

Why did her body continue to betray her; show weaknesses that she had promised never to show to another human being? Why couldn't she find the determination to twist the water below her captors' feet? Break their concentration so she could finally escape and regroup?

While she was sniffling and fighting with her abilities, Zhao was marveling at her fear—living for her terror. Every little whimper, every dripping tear…it was hauntingly beautiful; something he'd been waiting for for more years than he cared to admit. His hazel irises flicked hungrily over face, memorizing each dimple, noting each slight imperfection—an enlarged pore, a freckle, a kink in her nose that told the story of a past break—until the earthbender behind him started making an annoying noise.

Chattering teeth were difficult to ignore and Zhao released his crying catch to grab his soaked companion's shoulder. With his touch, the green-clad man's parka steamed and fizzled until his coat was perfectly dry, comfortably warm. The earthbender stopped shivering and widened his stance, seizing complete control over his element, which frustrated the waterbender who had been focusing on freezing the water-laden parka to his skin, aiming to freeze him alive.

As the earthbender regained his concentration, the spikes twisted until the ends wound around each other, binding Katara in a weird assortment of rock shackles. They jingled as she shook; not from the chill in the air, but from the trauma of her injuries. And she shrieked once more when Zhao tugged on the tether to make sure it was tight. Secured.

No human could escape the contraption she was in. No human could survive a trek across the tundra bound and bleeding. But—she inhaled, deep and meditative, calming down—she wasn't human. Not entirely, anymore.

Katara clenched her teeth tightly closed, defiant and aggressive. Her tears receded and Zhao smirked a half-lipped smile, something that probably made Fire Nation ladies swoon over his confidence and vie for his affections; but it made the waterbending captive want to retch. Splatter the remnants of her last unfortunate meal against his leather boots. Dirty and destroy them for future wear.

Zhao clicked his tongue condescendingly, still grinning. "I've spent  _years_ researching about you—about your affliction, your  _curse_. And it seems almost a shame that something so powerful was wasted on the likes of  _you._ You, a weakling of a child who barely managed to escape our last encounter with her life intact. You, a girl who would rather hide away in the mountainside instead of rule supreme over the insects that plague her territory."

The left side of Katara's lips twitched with displeasure and Zhao smirked, alerting the earthbender to restrain her in a crueler way than thought possible. Her arms twisted around until her wrists and palms were face up. Her teeth clenched harder, grinding and unwilling to part. She refused to say anything, refused to give him the satisfaction of  _squeaking_ with discomfort. Though she may have craved speaking to another human being after so long, she remained silent, determined and stone-faced, embodying the warrior she knew was hiding inside her.

It seemed to anger him, which gave her pleasure.

"Well, let's get going," Zhao said after another lengthy gaze at her face, eyes roaming the features he remembered, dipping down to view her parka and envision the lusciously tanned skin underneath.

Though Zhao would've rather continued gazing at his latest catch, the earthbender turned on his heels at the suggestion and maneuvered his companion's prey in front of them. Still hanging in midair, Katara briefly struggled to test her unusual bindings before she was led off into the daytime darkness, unsure if she'd be able to escape her bonds and flee before absolute night descended. Because, once night fell, she knew it wouldn't be safe anymore.

The full moon would surround everything in a bright light and she'd be instantly spotted, instantly targeted and trapped if she tried to flee. She needed the comfort of darkness in order to make a speedy escape, but it was  _when_ she could finally get free of her bonds that was still questionable. They were achingly tight and chaffy. Difficult to maneuver. Unsurprisingly stubborn and solid.

With a huff, she stopped fighting against her earthen manacles, fearing that her abductors would notice. She thought of a new plan, something that was sure to distract the hunters lagging behind her, something that was sure to get her free.

The hunters plodded onward, through the snowdrifts, Katara dangling six inches in the air in front of her two captors. They walked for a few miles while she methodically worked on her escape attempt. None of the obstacles they encountered were by chance; they were all a part of her plan. A well-crafted, hidden ploy created with surly desperation.

A gusty, snow-filled squall, a random crack in the ice, a mysterious quake from below; all were pieces of her strategy to divert the hunters from their tireless path. Delay their trek back to the Southern Water Tribe. Each delay meant another moment surrounded by her element. Each delay meant another opportunity, another glorious chance. And she wasn't going to waste a fantastic opening to horribly maim the men who were putting her through such a tortuous ordeal.

Subtly, Katara moved her head to the right, dragging her tongue along the back of her teeth. With enough confidence, the water deep below her hovering body moved to her will. Quickly, her influence on her element adapted to the new forms. But the result was less than astounding.

Another small fissure cracked across the ice, unnoticed by the men trailing her. She almost rolled her eyes at it.

But though it seemed like nothing from above, deep below, it was a monolith of a watery cave, unfrozen and slushy with the delicate flick of her pinky. All the hunters behind her needed to do was step on the crack and fall in. They'd never be able to escape once they did; they'd swim and grow frightfully cold before sinking beneath the surface, toward their watery graves. Even the firebender would only last a few minutes before hypothermia would set in and disable his abilities. Wintery weather would offer them no sympathy.

All they needed to do was step. Plod arrogantly forward before the smirks were wiped from their faces as they disappeared below the surface.

Katara started counting. She was three paces in front of them.

_One._

The moment they stepped down was the instant the earthbender's focus would break. She'd be free of her earthen bonds before they even hit the water, while they both slid down the chasm.

_Two._

She'd flee without hearing the splash. Every second was precious, no instant could be wasted. She'd run home and crawl into her cave—hunger be damned!—until she was back in her wolf form. Then, she'd return and sniff out their carcasses, make sure they were dead.

_Three._

_PPHHHFFFT! CRACK!_

"AHHHH!"

The earthbender's influence on the spikes evaporated and she popped her wrists free, breaking the hardened stone with a swift twist. Though, the very instant she was free, a wicked tendril of hot flames tore through the air, singing the front of her parka before it looped up, nearly burning off her eyebrows.

Katara twirled around and faced Zhao, standing upright and behind the fissure, his face filled with outright rage. He stooped low, crouching with his hands raised level to his face. An offensive pose.

He slowly brought one hand back and formed it into a fist. An  _aggressive_ offensive pose.

Stifling an irritated groan, Katara peered past him, noting the shadowy outline of her mountainous home in the daytime darkness. It was only a few miles away, but immediately retreating without taking care of the threat in front of her wouldn't be useful. He'd follow her the moment she bolted. And he'd probably find out where she lived—drag her out of her hole when she least expected it.

She needed to deal with him. And this time, he didn't have the element of surprise.

Katara smiled, a confident, cocky curl of her lips. And raised her arms, palms down.

* * *

**OoOoO**

* * *

Zuko had watched everything from afar. He had heard the screams; they made his skin crawl and his stomach clench. Such a terrible sound. Such agony.

He couldn't see what had caused the mysterious girl—wolf— _girl_ pain, but he could guess after he watched her body lift toward the heavens. The green-clad hunter was an earthbender, and he had a cask of his element stored somewhere on his person. Enough earth to pierce her flesh and haul her skyward. Enough earth to impale sharpened spikes into her body and make her wail.

There was a red-clad hunter, too. A Fire Nationer. And his presence caught Zuko off guard.  _I thought I was the only one who signed up this year._  Apparently, he was wrong. And he watched the curious spectacle unfold from his safe spot, listening to her cries, wincing as the red-clothed man stepped forward, waving the fog of her screams away from his face.

Prey and predator seemed to recognize each other. The man in the red parka shared a few words and stood there, watching her in serene silence. Was he waiting for her to speak? Or do something else, perhaps.

But…she didn't do anything.

She didn't fight back, didn't talk. Just propelled forward with the earthbender's assistance when the Fire Nationer determined it was time to go.

Away they went, and Zuko knelt in his hiding spot and stewed. He thought through everything, mindlessly touching the hilt of his twin blades as the trio trudged through a sudden drift. He remembered her shrieks, how very un-wolf-like they sounded. How very human they were. He thought of how she didn't speak, didn't even scream for help.

He shook his head, trying to dispel his thoughts. He knew that he needed to follow them—she  _was_ his target, too—so he crouched forward as they slunk away, into the darkness. He kept a fair distance, but he couldn't help the sinking feeling in his gut; a conflicted feeling.

His quarry was a girl—a maiden around his age, no less. And though she was usually in a different form—a very bestial form—she was still a girl. A human girl;  _just_  a girl. At least, right now she was.

It seemed dishonorable to attack her in a non-wolf form. Waterbender or not, she was  _not_ the beast they were hunting.  _Not_ the animal that plagued the Southern Water Tribe.  _Not_ their true target. And he felt a strange urgency to keep following her.

Zuko continued tailing them until well past noon. They had a few more hours of walking until the night made it easier to see, and the par of hunters seemed determined to continue until they made it to the settlement. Though, their pace was surprisingly slow.

Under his face covering, he smirked. A sudden snow squall, a creeping chasm, a heart-stopping rattle from below; he recognized the work of a crafty waterbender. The girl may have been immobilized, but she still found a way to outfox them and delay their trek across the vicious tundra in any way she could.

Carefully, he crept closer and closer, still mindlessly touching his swords. They were a source of comfort, and he was only clasping them for security. He wondered if he would get caught up in one of the girl's traps or when the hunters would finally realize what she was doing to postpone their advancement. Maybe they'd get violent; become aggressive enough to grievously harm her.

And he knew—though he didn't know why—that he couldn't allow that.

So he managed to stay hidden twenty yards back. Dangerously close enough to hear his footsteps. Though, the hunters seemed wholly distracted with the thrill of their impossible catch. The earthbender was focusing on maintaining the girl's bindings. The Fire Nationer—which he  _swore_ he recognized, even from behind—was practically skipping forward with his childish delight. Neither of them heard his lofty footfalls; neither of them seemed to be paying attention to the shadow lurching closer.

And that's when all hell broke loose.

The earthbender fell through the icy surface—"AHHHH!"—and disappeared. But the Fire Nationer—and apparent firebender—attacked the girl as she pried apart her manacles, shaking her shoulders to release the barbs in her shoulders. She took a cautionary step away from the flames and looked at her assailant. Then, Zuko could've  _swore_ that she looked directly at him, cerulean eyes hopeful and determined. For escape? He could only guess.

Zuko tightened his grip on the hilt of his swords, pulling them out with a near-silent tug. He didn't know what he'd do, but he felt a strange assurance once they were fully drawn.

But the waterbending beast had an idea all her own and attacked, palms down, drawing a vicious sheet of ice betwixt her and her attacker. The firebender parried backward and punched another vicious attack in her direction. And Zuko could only watch, drawing precariously closer to gaze upon the hunter's gruff face, try to figure out who he was.

That's when he saw the man's face, bushy sideburns and all.

Zhao.  _Admiral_ Zhao.

The man who had boasted about his prowess and guaranteed his success if he trekked southward, striking deals with all who would shake his hand. The man who had bet his entire fortune and position on a folk tale, a myth. The man who had lost  _all_ his bets—handedly, too—while he snarled and grasped at his losses, struggling to keep enough money between his fingers for his survival. For his next  _victorious_  attempt.

The very man who rivaled the prince in outright desperation for a successful capture. Because, like Zuko, Zhao  _needed_ to capture the beast in order to return home. He  _needed_ to capture the beast in order to gain what he had lost: respect and honor.

Zuko took an unconscious step forward, a little more determined to intervene. If Zhao was targeting the beast too, he was in trouble. The man had a penchant for triumph, no matter the cost. He'd do  _anything_ to capture the girl and return home.

Not that Zuko could blame him.

Another step, this one less careful. A pair of cerulean eyes spotted his shadow and a whip the width of his head surged toward him, snapping at his heels as he dodged.

There was a snarl, a very bestial sounding thing. And Zuko didn't know if the source of the growl was him, Zhao, or the girl.

Another whip crashed against his shoulder, ripping through his parka, and for a short moment, the prince staggered as he absorbed the blow. But he didn't have time to curse or rub his wound; there was another foul attack coming, this one from Zhao.

Flames rushed forward and the battle paused. Zhao's arms were raised—one hand pointed toward the bestial girl, the other Zuko. The girl stilled, breathing heavily—panting because of her exertion—arms pointed at both of the men wearing crimson. Zuko held his swords aloft, both blades pointing at Zhao. The girl seemed to notice how his weapons weren't directed toward her and her dark brown eyebrows furrowed, taking in the strange scene. But it didn't take her long to realize what was happening.

* * *

**OoOoO**

* * *

_He wants me, too,_ Katara thought with a grimace.  _Of_ _ **course**_ _he does._

As a response, she widened her stance and splayed her fingers. The ground shifted beneath Zhao's feet, forcing him to run five paces backward in order to avoid getting swallowed by the uneven terrain. The other Fire Nationer—comically small compared to his compatriot—lurched toward him, swords swishing around his covered head.

A bit confused, Katara fell back and watched with intrigued interest. Weren't they working together? Both trying to capture her? Apparently not.

The side of her lip twitched up. Let the red-clad hunters fight to the death, tire themselves out. Then she'd fight the victor, refreshed and ready. Then, she'd win.

Eyes alight with venomous enthusiasm, she watched.

The sword-wielder sliced through the air with one blade and then the other. Zhao hopped forward and blocked the attack with his flames, bringing his forearms level with his face so the sharp edges of the duel swords skidded off and away. Then, he punched outward and down; a yellow burst sprouted from his fist and propelled outward in all directions.

Even from five paces away, Katara had to duck to avoid the blast. And when the flames puttered out, she blinked, a little concerned with the violent display of raw power.

The smallish hunter had ducked as well, his belly pressed tight against the ground before he rolled away and scampered to his feet. He had lost one of his swords while he avoided the blast but he still looked confident and undeterred. He raised a single blade against his much larger opponent.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," Zhao spat, his voice filled with vicious contempt. He raised another fist, ready to deliver another foul burst of fire. "It'll be best if you give up now,  _Prince_ Zuko."

Katara's eyes narrowed. Had she just heard that right?  _Prince Zuko?_ She peered at the smaller hunter, curious.  _Why is a member of the Fire Nation's royal family hunting_ _ **me**_ _?_

Zuko pried at his faceguard with his free hand, pulling the fabric below his lips so he could reply. But he didn't, he just callously smirked, which aggravated the larger man. With a growl, Zhao launched himself forward, kicking upward and unleashing another brutal assault. Flames surrounded the pair and they disappeared in the smoke.

While the two hunters were fighting, Katara fell to her hands and knees and pulled at the snow with her waterbending. The flakes twirled on the ground and morphed with her will, separating. The ground slowly opened up around the men, combining with the chasm she originally created.

_Crack!_

The sound went unnoticed by the firebenders and she smiled, content. If she wanted, she could trap both of her stalkers at once, upend the circle they were standing on and hurl them both into a watery abyss. Then she'd bolt; get as far away as possible.

But the princeling didn't seem to want to follow her plans and he stepped out of her snare. With a huff, Katara watched, desperate to finish this outrageous battle, return to her cavern so she could heal her still-prickling wounds. The blood on her parka was sticky and distracting; it smelled heavily of iron and limited her movement.

Zuko rushed forward and struck true. But there was a clang in the air that suggested he didn't pierce flesh; no, he hit something metallic—a guard of some sort. And Katara watched as he slid back into her trap. She smirked and flicked her fingers.

The ground shook and groaned, and both hunters managed to bounce off the circle before it collapsed. Both turned their heads to gape at her; both expressions were irate, thoroughly pissed off with her interruption. And Zhao fired a snapping flash of yellow toward her in retaliation.

Katara rolled away from the attack and fired a tendril of her own, sweeping his legs out from under him. Zhao crawled back to his feet and retaliated once more, ignoring his other skirmish. They fought aggressively and Zuko went unnoticed as water and fire collided in the air, bringing forth a cloudy sea of steam.

Zhao's attacks were more aggressive and defined, a true master of his element. And he reveled with his good fortune as he managed to step closer and closer, narrow the gap between himself and his prey. He took another footstep forward and Katara flicked her right wrist skyward; she attempted to create a barrier but Zhao grabbed her forearm and pulled her down. Off balance, she staggered into his arms and he clamped onto her, tight.

"Let her go!"

The prince—long forgotten—stepped out of a steamy cloud and jumped, sword slicing downward to separate them. To save his arm from being cut, Zhao thrust Katara away from him. She tumbled to the ice, hard, and laid there, shocked, still hearing the prince's scream ringing in her ears.

_Let her go!_

Quickly, she sat upright and watched with a careful vigor, eyeing the way the young hunter corralled Zhao away from her, put himself between them to divert the man's attention. But it did the young man no good; his combatant fired a blast that tore through his parka and seared into his chest. Zuko flailed forward, crippled with pain as Zhao tossed him aside.

Beaten, the prince laid sickeningly still. Katara glanced at him from afar, her gaze concerned.

"Don't worry, little beasty," Zhao taunted, nearing. "He's meant to die out here anyway. It's all a part of the plan."

Katara bit the back of her lips to keep herself from replying. He strode forward and she dug her hands into the snow, ready to end the battle. Zhao took another step and she hurled her arms skyward, bringing forth a double-tailed attack; water spewed from her arms, whipped up, and crashed down on either side of him, breaking apart the ice beneath his feet.

Scrambling for safety, Zhao jumped, but the ground cracked away and disappeared. He managed to latch onto the edge of the cliff with his fingertips, and he kicked out his feet for a toe grip. He growled when he couldn't find one. Quaking on the crag, he struggled.

Carefully, Katara edged forward, toward the expanding gorge. Chunks of ice were breaking away all around her anguished pursuer. And as he flailed, the ice he was clutching onto shivered and shattered. He didn't seem to notice.

And she said nothing, merely watched.

He was panting, heaving with his effort. No matter where he grabbed, no matter what he tried to do, his grip was slipping. Reach, slip. Grab, slide. Kick, skid. Growl.

And then suddenly, without a snarled word—without a haggard scream—he slid beneath the surface, into the crevice.

Disappeared. Gone.

Katara dared herself to climb to the edge of the chasm. She peered over the cliff, expecting to see him clinging to the side a little further down. But when she looked, there was nothing there other than a chute, slickened like a deadly slide.

The ground under her hands shook and she careened backward, away from the gorge. She sat there for a while, staring at the opening, thinking about how she narrowly avoided capture. And then she brushed her knees off and stood. She shook her shoulders, stretched them front and back, attempted to break apart some of the blood that adhered her parka to her flesh. And then she glanced at the opposite crevice.

Deep down, the earthbender was floating on the surface of his watery prison, his face colored blue, lips purple. Not breathing; dead. Just how she liked her hunters.

With a stiff nod and no remorse, she turned her attention to her final foe. Lying on the ice, curled up to protect his wound and breathing faintly, was the prince.  _Zuko,_ she remembered. Gingerly, she neared him. He made no move, didn't even seem to care that she was approaching. She scooted a little closer and realized that he was unconscious.

She turned from him, fists clenched and ready to leave—return to her home. But leaving him outside, in the snow and horribly maimed, was a death sentence.

_Let her go!_

His words still echoed, still rang between her ears. Why did he say that?

Because she was his target, too. Because he was aiming to capture her and return home, victorious. Because he was  _just like the rest of them._

But…was he?

She neared him once more, a soft growl in the back of her throat. She knew that she was about to regret what she was about to do, but it needed to be done. She bent and the wind swiped at the white fur outlining her parka, tossing it in several directions all at once. She heaved, dropped him, and then crafted a sled with her waterbending.

Aching and vision burning, Katara wandered back toward her home, Prince Zuko in tow.


	7. The Prisoner

He was heavy; expectedly so since he was a full-grown man, laden with a thick, fur-lined parka, expensive leather boots, a menagerie of hidden weapons—how many knives could one person  _possibly_  carry?—and a sack filled with items that could keep him alive for two entire seasons. But he was  _too_ heavy. Heavy enough to have been dropped without regret once, twice, and then thrice. Now, though, her conscious was starting to tremble. How many times could a skull hit the ground before a person could suffer from brain damage?

Katara winced when his body hit the ground for the fourth time, the hollow-sounding  _thunk_ of his head drifting into the moonlit air. She readjusted her grip and clambered up the side of her home, thoroughly exhausted and feeling a little bit of guilt creep into her soul.

"I'll fix that," she told herself, plumes of mist coming out of her mouth the further she ascended, dividing her attention between scaling a treacherous cliff and inspecting his now-bleeding facial wound—a cut on his cheek. She inhaled deeply when she heard the injury on his stomach crackle, liquid skin forming a protective layer around his third-degree burn, seeping into the back of her parka and making everything a sticky mess. Disgusted, she retched. And then he slipped…again.  _Whack!_ A hasty scramble for the back of his legs and she firmly secured him against her slight frame. "I'll fix that…"

She climbed higher, desperate to put him down lest she caused more bodily damage. Any second, she calculated, he would wake and chastise her for her carelessness. But so far, he hadn't, which baffled her. Because, even though the man— _Zuko_ , she told herself again for the umpteenth time—was horribly injured, she thought that he would've woken, screaming in agony during the jumbled sled ride, the jerky haul over the mountain's rubble, or the bumpy climb up. But nope, he stayed resolutely unconscious, which was good. Right?

Slip.  _Crunch!_

"I'll fix that…" Not good.

After what felt like a ridiculous amount of time, her peephole was within sight, glistening with welcome in the moon's powerful rays, shining down and offering encouragement. And Katara readjusted the ridiculous weight of the man on her back and scurried faster, ready to be free of her bulky burden. When she finally got to the edge, she flicked her wrist and the hole morphed into a doorway big enough for her to crawl through.

She tossed Zuko to the floor in an instant— _Crash!_ "I'll fix that…later"—and began to pace her room, suddenly feverish. It was the feeling that had bothered her since she first heaved him from the snowy ground where the earthbender still laid, dead— _with Zhao still unaccounted for_ , she grimly thought. It was the feeling of regret; the thought of  _what the hell am I doing?_

There was a man in her cavern, a bulky hunter who she had encountered on more than one occasion; somebody who was sure to tear out her jugular in the middle of the night, decapitate or disembowel her, bring her carcass back to the Southern Water Tribe to claim whatever prize he thought he had earned. Rejoice in her untimely demise.

And she had brought him  _home._ All because he had said three little words that addled her brain and pulled on her heartstrings:  _Let her go!_

Three little words and she had pried him up and brought him home with the intention to heal his—now many—wounds. Three little words and she was willing to throw away over a decade's worth of caution to help him. Three little words and she was acting like an utter  _idiot!_

But she wasn't an idiot, nowhere near. She was an intelligent warrior—always prepared. Like Sokka.

She stopped pacing, knowing what she needed to do. And she walked to the stone wall of her cave, feeling for a notch that she hadn't used in months. When she found it, the wall slid back and then rolled to the side. The tunnel gasped for air and tugged at her skin, beckoning her inside, into its deep-set history that she simply wanted to forget. Blue eyes merely stared into the darkness, slowly closing as distant memories flitted before her.

Echoing screams filled her ears; shouts of terror, rage, and anguish. Pleading cries met with ferocious growls. The sounds of swords clanging—a Water Tribe, whale-tooth blade splintering beneath heavily-reinforced Earth Kingdom iron, curved at the end like a fishhook. One final outraged cry and a spell cast without words. A sudden stillness, and then raucous savagery. And after all that, silence—a horrible, draining nothingness…

Eyes clenched shut, Katara braced herself against the exposed doorway, tan hands turning chalky white with her grip. Like always, the cave was pulling her inside, forcing her to remember, forcing her to hear and see everything she only wanted to forget, like a recurring bad dream. And when the cave stopped inhaling, air no longer stagnant and grasping, she turned and grabbed Zuko's booted ankles. She drug him deep into the mountain, muttering, "I'll fix that…I'll fix that," as his head lolled from side to side, skirting past upturned, flat stones and bouncing down unkempt stairs.

She descended deep into the mountain with the moonlight pouring in from an alcove above, lighting her way through the maze-like tunnels. Her mountain was once a castle—a massive palace composed of rock and ice; but now it was forgotten and buried under a thick covering of snow, left to deteriorate in the wild tundra. It was the honorable home of past chiefs, before the massacre.  _Her_ home, before her curse. Her home, once filled with laughter and light, and now filled with echoing cries, shifting shadows, and foul images, skeletons in crypts, long unopened.

She blinked the foul memories away and continued.  _Bump! Bump! Bump!_

Down and down they went. She turned expertly, like she had just walked the halls the previous day. Like she hadn't been avoiding the catacombs for months and years, holding her breath whenever she was forced to come inside because she couldn't stand the smell of decay or the aroma coating her skin—long enough to take a bath, which was why she avoided the place like it had a deep-seated disease.

She halted at the bottommost level. The moonlight, weakened because of the distance, still filtered in through the central opening, casting dim shadows until it settled on the floor in front of three massive cellars, each one filled with casks of rice wine, potatoes, and onions. The vegetables were rotten yet miraculously growing in their own moldy waste. They smelled horrible and she gagged as she bent down to work, emptying out the only cellar with a lockable gate by rolling the barrels of rice wine into the hall and under the light, where they'd sit and crumble until they were nothing more than discarded muck.

When the cell was finally empty, she hauled the firebending hunter inside. He clattered to the ground once more.  _Thump!_ And she huffed as her fingers trailed over his many injuries—bruises, scrapes, cuts, and a crackling burn. Her eyes rested on his face, itching to pry off the strip of gauze and see what sort of injury was hidden underneath. Did he encounter a rogue sword or an angry fist? Was his eye puckered out with some sort of ungodly deformity?

Without realizing, she started to lift up the end of the bandage, curl the gauze between her thumb and index finger. And then he moaned.

She immediately released the gauze, fingers twitching nervously. But he wasn't awake; he was still unconscious. And she convinced herself that the wound on his face wouldn't go anywhere; she had more pressing concerns. Like the now-bubbling gash on his stomach, blisters bursting with the slightest agitation.

She set to work, finally making due on her promises of, "I'll fix that." Slowly—so very slowly—she coaxed water out of the walls and started pressing her palms against the exposed and red flesh of the man's stomach. Damaged skin began dancing beneath her fingers, knitting together with threads of water, gently glowing with a faint, white light. Each wound required patience and encouragement. It drained her strength but she was determined and encouraged, never willing to give up.

The burn on his stomach, the gash on his shoulder, a cut on his hand, littered scrapes, and purplish bruises; each faded over time with her guidance. And then she paused, staring at the off-colored pad wrapped tight against his head. It was all that was left and she drew in a deep breath as she sliced through the covering.

The gauze slid off and her eyes widened, horrified. Her hands clasped against her lips to stifle her gasp, but it still bounced against the cell walls, echoing faintly.

A burn the size of a man's hand, still oozing and struggling to heal. It screamed for her attention, exuding a foul, yellow-tinted puss. An aroma permeated the air, the scent of decomposing flesh, something  _dying_ ; it made her dry heave and she covered her lips and nose tighter, trying to fight through the smell.

The burn on his face was bad—very bad. And she couldn't help but wonder why the wound wasn't healing. If he was, indeed, a prince, wouldn't he have the best physicians in the world looking after him? Scrutinizing every movement of his injury? Giving him the best self-care advice? But here he was, on the uprooted floor of a decaying cellar in an abandoned palace, his burn slowly consuming the healthy flesh on his face with its rot, devouring what it could.

No doubt, the wound was stressed because of the tundra's harsh environment, refusing to heal even with the application of an expensive poultice—something she could smell, even with her human nose. So she forced her hands down and worked water over the injury, knowing that healing him may take a few hours—maybe even a few sessions. At first, she gently pushed the liquid against his flesh, politely asking it to mend his wound. And it worked…until it didn't. The skin fought back, turning an angry shade of crimson, absorbing the moisture and retaliating harshly.

His cheek burned bloodless white and then pink, settling into the hue with a determination unlike any wound she had every experienced before. The area around his eyes swelled purple and then curdled into the same shade, the lids squeezed tight, probably molded together.

The burn was faded, partially healed, but for now, it was the best that she could do. At least he wouldn't need to wrap his face anymore. And maybe—if he was lucky—his eye would open over time, undamaged. Maybe he'd be able to see out of it…eventually.

Fatigued but knowing that she had to keep going, Katara's fingers rifled through his parka and pants, cutting them off his skin and exposing more of his flesh, stripping him elegantly but leaving an acceptable amount of clothes over his more delicate and personal areas. The sheer amount of muscles lining his body was impressive, but his unusually warm skin still quaked and shivered against the cold air. So she let the scraps of fabric pool under his frame to protect his flesh from the chilled flagstone floor and tore hidden weapons off and away, chucking them into the hallway with his duel broadswords and pack.

She confiscated two pairs of daggers—one strapped to his thigh, the other hidden in his left boot, one confined in a leather holder on his chest, and the last hidden in his right sleeve—a flask filled with something rose-scented, and an ornate metal hairpiece, something old and seemingly out of place. But she shrugged and tossed all of the objects with his other belongings, narrowly out of his reach in case he leaned between the bars and frantically grabbed.

He may have been unconscious, but his body wasn't. His stomach grumbled, loud and hungry, and Katara's joined the gurgled call, impatient. She only had a small amount of emergency supplies stowed away in her cavern and she rubbed the back of her head, knowing that she'd have to do  _yet another_ thing she didn't want to do. Tonight, too.

She took a steady breath and stooped over the half-naked hunter—her prisoner. She shackled his ankle for good measure and exited the cell, slamming and wiggling the door to make sure it snuggly locked. After one final look, she padded up the stairs and navigated her way back to her cavern, thoughts of somebody she hadn't seen in years in the back of her mind.

_She'd be able to help._

* * *

**OoOoO**

* * *

Zuko woke up feeling slightly drugged and majorly beat up. His body felt tired yet strangely refreshed, exhausted but ready to run for miles. Muscles twitched, painful. And he blinked, trying to dispel the awful sting emanating from deep inside his stomach.

The moonlight shined down an arm's length away, casting a shadow over his body. His  _half-naked_ body, he realized. He blinked once more—with  _two_ eyes—and bolted upright, clasping the back of his head like he had a sudden headache.

"W-what the hell?"

With his other hand, he reached for his face, touching the skin over his eye that had been slimy and resisting the expensive healing salve he applied every morning. But now, it was hardened and somewhat healed, a little bumpy but better nonetheless. And he could see with it, which was something he hadn't been able to do for weeks.

Alarmed, he wiggled, trying to get up. He felt a heavy weight on his ankle and a manacle rattled against his skin, tying him down. Feeling trapped, he clambered for it and tugged, trying to break free. He beat on it with a closed fist, smashed it against the flagstone floor with a daring kick, and flicked an unruly flame at it, but it didn't budge. Exhausted, he fell atop what he thought was a pile of blankets, but it was his clothes, cut into jagged strips and ruined.

He shivered and pulled the torn shreds of his parka around his shoulders, trying to cover up his semi-nude form as much as he could. Suddenly remembering his many wounds, his fingers slipped over his body, but he couldn't find a single injury; even the massive burn on his chest—courtesy of Zhao—had vanished, leaving nothing but a faint scar, colored baby pink, the hue of rosy cheeks.

Confused, frantic, and freezing, he kept looking around, trying to find all of the supplies he had slung across his back before he attacked Zhao and the waterbending girl. Sitting there, across the large expanse of his cell—far beyond his restricted reach—was his knapsack filled with a spare blanket and canvas tent, items to keep him warm. His weapons were there, too, tossed haphazardly to the side, dejected and not appropriately stored—one dagger was dangerously close to a glistening puddle, threatening rust. He sneered at the misuse and continued to gaze.

Rotten vegetables and casks of rice wine filled the cells and the hallway around him, making his teeny prison smell faintly of alcoholic, moldy earth. Like the scent of worms squiggling above ground after rain, seeking a new home after a hearty night drinking. Ice lined the walls, thick and faintly covered with green mucus—probably covered with spores of some sort. The bars of his cell were similarly coated and embedded in the ice; they didn't budge when he pushed—didn't even move a centimeter or give in the slightest.

He huffed and looked skyward, a little annoyed, but mostly confused.

Where was he?

A prison of some sort. The manacle and locked cell were evidence enough. But who brought him here?

Did that girl carry him across the tundra to lock him away? Watch him die a confined and horrible death? But if that was her plan, why go through the process of healing his wounds? And  _how_ did she accomplish such a feat in the first place? How long was he out? Days? Weeks?

He twisted uneasily on the ground, pulling his knees toward his chest so he could get them off the frozen floor. His toes were turning blue.

Zuko touched his feet with warm fingers, massaging the nearly-frozen skin with the pad of his thumb. He started thinking, still wondering about his newly-healed wounds. He knew that the waterbenders of the North were sometimes blessed with god-like healing powers, but he was certainly in the South, where such talents had never been documented. The tribes didn't communicate, didn't trade bending secrets, so the sight of his healed wounds was startling—impossible!

But he couldn't be sure that it was an absolute impossibility. Compared to the other elements, bending water was a mysterious talent, gifted to only a select few throughout the world. Not much was known about it since it was an exceedingly rare skill in the South—only a handful of warriors displayed enough raw ability to make them worth teaching; and even then, only one in a generation could master their gift. But in the North—where only the faintest of murmurings (more speculation than anything) poured over their massive icy borders—the rumored number of benders was impressive. Though, the North kept their genders separated, divided. Women healed, men hunted. Men were allowed to travel the world, to come South for the hunt every summer, but Northern women couldn't travel—weren't  _allowed_ to leave. They were confined to their own nation so they could keep their secret healing arts to themselves.

But here Zuko was, in the South. No longer bruised or burned.  _Healed._

How?

The mysterious girl was a waterbender; and somehow, she had healed his wounds. Was she a Northerner trapped in the South? Perhaps. But he'd bet his title against that possibility.

The North treated their women like livestock, bartering and selling their females to the highest bidder or person with the most power. No decent Northern woman was permitted to leave, even to their sister tribe. And because of their moral, political, and ethical differences, even the most uninformed person knew that the relationship between the two tribes had been rocky for a few decades—long before the bestial girl was born.

She was born in the South, raised in the wild. And Zuko knew it, too. More or less felt it in his bones.

Ancient history swirled about his head, courtesy of his royal education. Though the two tribes had been separated for nearly a hundred years, he knew there had been an attempt to salvage the deteriorated bond. One singular attempt, more than a decade ago, when former Southern Chief Hakoda and Northern Chief Arnook proposed a matrimony between their children—Prince Sokka and Princess Yue. And reportedly, the engagement had gone splendidly. Enough so that the North opened their walls to the South so they could commence trading; goods passed between the two tribes, and the Southern Water Tribe—once considered the lesser of the two—thrived. But as quickly as things had started to develop, they shut down.

Mysteriously and seemingly overnight, Chief Hakoda was removed from power, Prince Sokka unexpectedly killed. Princess Yue was left crying without her intended as she was safely escorted home. And the world was left to speculate after the North closed up their walls, muzzled behind their icy fortress.

Zuko—including the rest of the world—assumed that a coup had infiltrated the Southern palace and hastily removed Chief Hakoda and his family from the throne; the Southern Prince was just an unfortunate casualty during the transfer. Word spread, claiming that Bato was the new chief—with Hakoda's mother still offering elderly, experienced guidance—and the world continued to turn. The South had been questioned by the ruling parties of the world, of course, but the removal process and Hakoda's whereabouts were never discussed. And during his first reigning summer, Chief Bato surprised the nations by announcing the very first hunt, inviting warriors from the across the world to visit his shores so they could capture an elusive beast, claiming that the creature's death was his top priority.

And the world's most skilled hunters responded in earnest, but none had been successful. Leading to where Zuko was now…

Locked in a cell, frozen and shivering, half-naked but strangely healed.

He wrapped his arms across his chest and pushed his hands into his armpits, trying to do anything he could to conserve his waning body heat. He shrunk between his knees and allowed his internal flame to lick behind his teeth. A small, controlled ember burned bright for a moment before he blew it out of his mouth and away—an advanced form of firebending his Uncle Iroh had taught him on a particularly cold afternoon.

He quivered, biting his tongue as he fought the chilly air, and waited.

* * *

**OoOoO**

* * *

The Southern Water Tribe was desolate as she approached, mothers, fathers, and children all tucked snuggly in their beds. And though the streets were deserted, she still bent a cruel shape around her human form; the outline of a wolf, hackles extended and head swinging from side to side, tongue lolled out and dripping with watery saliva. A hungry, desperate apparition. Threatening enough to make it unapproachable. Frightening enough to keep the civilians inside, safe and warm.

She slunk through the streets in the shadows, keeping close to the buildings filled with people who wanted her dead. But there was one person who she hoped  _didn't_ want her head on a pike. And it was that person she was seeking. Katara needed help—food and supplies to last a few days—and she was willing to risk a trip into the Tribe for  _her…_ because of  _him._

Katara dropped her illusion and climbed the icy wall separating the decade-old royal palace from the rest of the city. She jumped off the other side and sprinted, running as fast as she dared, and covering up her booted tracks with an occasional flick of her wrist. She scaled the ice-blocked wall of the outside tower and perched her knees against a glass-covered ledge three stories up.

On the other side of the sill was a pie, left out to cool overnight. She could practically smell the expensively imported apples through the glass and she pressed her nose against it, licking her lips. The window was unlocked and she pressed her shoulder against it. It swung inward, into a sparsely furnished apartment.

Stepping silently, Katara crept forward, over the small kitchenette until her feet were firmly planted on the floor. She grabbed the mouthwatering pie and padded softly about the room, stuffing handfuls of the crumbling pastry into her mouth as she collected food and other supplies in a bag hanging low against her hip, hoping that she wouldn't wake the woman sleeping on the pallet nearby.

When her bag was nearly bursting, she tiptoed toward the pallet, one shaking hand extended and nervous. She didn't touch the woman—though she really wanted to, if only to feel her warm, unthreatening flesh against her fingertips—and instead crouched down and whispered, "I love you, Gran Gran."

The woman stirred, blinking blearily, and Katara bit her lip. Her confidence fizzled and then disappeared and she ducked underneath the small dining table when she saw a wrinkled hand exit the bedsheets, searching for a candle. Candle and match found, light sparked and shadows crinkled against the corners of the room, illuminating everything with an iridescent glow. The woman sat upright and looked around, extending her light in every corner before sadly shaking her head and puffing out her light. She dipped back into her sheets and pulled the covers tight around her neck, her eyes gloomy, her expression hurt. After a few moments, she fell back asleep, breath coming out of her mouth in subtle pushes of frost.

Katara needed to escape, so she shimmied backward and toward the window. As much as she wanted to talk to another human being, she knew that it wasn't right to confront her only living relative; not now, when she was still cursed. Not now, when all the older woman could possibly think about was how her son, daughter-in-law, and grandson were all taken from her. Her granddaughter, too, but in a much crueler way.

The window snapped closed and Katara ran through the streets, her pack thumping softly against her leg. With all of the supplies she collected, she'd be able to avoid hunting and eat handsomely for a few days. Well, handsomely enough considering she now had a prisoner to feed, too.

* * *

**OoOoO**

* * *

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

Footsteps.

Zuko held his breath, anticipating the aggressive shadow of the white wolf he had encountered yesterday. But when he squinted into the luminous moonlight, the only shape he saw was human. Unthreatening and a little hunched over, carrying something.

 _She_ padded down the stairs, a tray perched on her hands and a blanket wedged under her arm. Her hair was frazzled, unkempt and winded, like she had been running or sparring for a few hours. Her parka was multicolored but speckled with splotches of crimson—her blood. Her eyes—those transfixing, cerulean orbs—were focused intently on the tray in her hands, balancing it carefully as she finished the last three stairs. She paused on the bottommost step, realizing he was awake and glaring at her from behind his bars. And she gripped the tray a little tighter, making her variegated parka crumple into her stomach. Her lips twitched, a nervous, unsure tick that Zuko definitely noticed.

There was a silent, tense moment where neither one said a word, just stared, eyeing the other up. A molten, golden gaze filtered between the iron-wrought bars of his cell, unintimidated and a little aggressive, his face heavily scarred yet strangely impassive. Cerulean eyes stared back, blinking at two working eyes and one pinkish scar the size of a man's hand; she noticed how he was hunched over, chilled but healed enough to move. It gave her a spurt of joy, like her efforts weren't wasted.

Never breaking her gaze, Katara bent over and pushed the tray across the floor until the tips of her fingers could push no further. He leaned forward and one healed but dirty hand sifted through the bars; he reached for the tray and scooted it as close as it would go, clanging metal against metal. He snatched the offered morsels off—a few strips of whale jerky, dried, seasoned, and preserved; a handful of wild berries, imported from the Earth Kingdom; a glass of water, freshly bent from the snow outside.

He ate like he hadn't eaten in days, tearing into the strips with lengthy pulls, teeth exposed and mashing the berries into the meaty mixture with a disregard for manners that would've impressed Sokka. He chugged the cup of water and flung the steel canister back onto the tray, making Katara's face twist grossly at his sheer disrespect or desperation—she wasn't sure which. And when the final fistful of fruit gulped down his throat, he pushed the tray forward with one enormous shove. It skidded and hit the toe of her blood-spattered boot.

There was no muttered 'thanks.' There was nothing appreciative about his tray-shoving, golden-glared attitude.

So she glowered, irate.

Her lips were a fine line, fists clenched and slightly shaking. She wanted to say something snarky. But that be rude.  _Could_ she be rude?

Instead of saying anything, she simply sneered at him, hoping that her anger radiated and slowly chipped into him. Broke him down until he was a whimpering little puppy, pleased to have been given the barest of scraps from the worst of her supplies.

"Thanks."

Katara's fists unclenched and her face softened, eyebrows smoothing across her forehead. "You're welcome."

It was the first words she had willingly said to another person in years. They felt muddled coming out of her mouth, almost insincere. But it felt surprisingly good to say something—anything. Especially when it was the return response of appreciation.  _Thanks. You're Welcome._ Two phrases that only existed in the human realm—animals didn't give thanks or show gratitude. It was refreshing—encouraging, even.

"Why did you bring me here?" His voice was scratchy but warm, a calm carefulness behind every syllable. Soothing.

She felt the confidence to step forward. Though, she was wary to stay out of his immediate reach, resting one palm against her hip. The other hand was behind her back; she wanted to appear nervous, like a curious child so she could lure him into a sense of ease. But betwixt her fingers she held a small length of rippling water. Just in case. She didn't know how far he could fire a flame so it was best to be cautious, especially during their first meeting.

"To uh—" She bolstered and took another step, confidence burgeoning. The blanket under her arm pressed tight against her parka. "To heal you."

Since one eye was already misshapen and slit, the other eye narrowed. Zuko frowned, warmth gone from his voice and replaced with skepticism. "Why?"

 _Because you seemed…different,_ she thought.  _Let her go!_ Those three words had been bouncing around her head all night, forcing her to work harder, go the distance. Wipe the sweat off her forehead and waterbend until her limbs were nothing but limp noodles. But she couldn't let him know that; not right now. "Because it was the right thing to do."

He snorted and looked away, staring at his chained ankle. He rotated his foot, watching the frosted steel steam against his skin. "You're the beast, aren't you?"

Katara bristled. She hated being identified as a beast—as a monster. It wasn't her fault! And she didn't mindlessly attack _anybody_ ; she only went after the people who struck first. Hunters were fair game—they  _signed up_ to kill her!  _Every_ year! _They_ were the monsters. Not her!

Zuko took her silence as an irritated retort. "Was this," he rattled his manacle, "the right thing to do?"

"Hey! I healed you. I didn't have to, you know. I could've left you out there for dead."

His lips puckered, evaluating her response. After a brief reflection, he tilted his head. "Why didn't you, then? Beasts aren't known for their charity. So I suppose you have an underlying reason for healing and imprisoning me."

"No." Her fists clenched again and the water behind her back coiled dangerously around one hand. "I don't."

"Then let me out."

"What? No!"

He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest to cover his exposed pecs. He fought through a chilly shudder, trying to appear poised despite the cold temperature. "Why not?"

"Because."

He snorted again. This time, flames came out of his nostrils and Katara's water skyrocketed above her head, ready and willing to impale him with a spike if she had to. Eagerly, he watched, waiting for her to strike, but the attack never came. Like before—when they first met, when she transformed before his eyes—she faltered and drew backward, prepared to flee.

But he didn't want her to flee, not just yet. He hadn't gotten the answers he deserved. "Because…?"

 _Because you aren't like the rest of them._ She stomped; just once, a defined stamp with the heel of her boot. And then she chose to ignore his query. "Why did you attack him?"

"Attack who? Zhao, you mean?"

"So you know him."

"Tch.  _Every_ body knows  _him._ "

Katara folded her arms across her chest. Water followed her movements, curling around her neck and resting over her shoulders. Languid yet ready. "If you know him, why did you attack him?"

There was a sneer across his face and she could tell he was hiding something—something important concealed behind disgust. And she really wanted to know what he knew.

"Because he had my target."

Wrong answer.

She glowered and hugged the blanket in her arms against her chest—clutching it like it was the only thing holding her back. Was he...just like the rest of them? "You mean me."

"Yes," he said, looking away. "You."

"That's it, then. You just wanted to capture me yourself," she spat. How could she have been so blind? He was a hunter, one of  _them_. "Bring me to your home so you could gloat about your prowess—imprison me without cause. Rejoice over my misery and showcase me to whoever wanted to see the South's elusive  _beast._  Were you getting some sort of reward for this? Did somebody send you?"

Their eyes locked but he didn't say anything, just scowled. And after a deep stare, his fixed expression twitched, letting her know that she hit a nerve.

Her face contorted into a callous smirk and she leaned toward his cell, pulling in her bottom lip with the tug of her teeth. Her thoughts were venomous and her tone was clipped, gloating. "And which one of us is captured, now? Hmm?"

Fuming, he scrambled to his feet, careful to keep his toes on the underside of his parka, protected from the frozen floor. His burly and rust-covered hands—coated with dried blood—clenched onto the bars. Tight. And he pushed and pulled the steel but it didn't budge. There was a hoarse growl and then he collapsed onto his rear, somewhat defeated. He looked up at her from the floor, glaring, breath haggard.

His display was meant to be intimidating, but Katara had tested the bars with her unusual strength already. So she didn't even flinch when he snarled at her—a true animal bred to kill. A desperate monster caged behind thick, metal mesh. She looked at him pitifully and received a stilted wince as a response. He felt bad. And weirdly, she did, too.

"Me," he finally whispered.

All the tingly, good feelings she thought that she would feel by confronting him dwindled and disappeared. She wanted him to be different—unlike all of the other hunters who pursued her throughout the summer. But he wasn't; he was only interested in killing or capturing her, returning home with honor.

Just like the rest of them.

_Let her go!_

A lie. A hopeful, horrible lie.

He would have to stay locked up; she had misread him...couldn't trust him.

Expression pained, she shook her head and turned. She didn't feel good about what just happened. Their conversation felt childish and undignified. And for a second, Katara didn't know why she allowed herself to stoop so low. Predators mocked their prey, not her.  _She_ wasn't the one behind bars; he was. Disgusted, she tsked—loudly. "I'm leaving. I'll see you tomorrow—for dinner."

She started walking away, eyes downcast and headed for the stairs.

"Wait!"

It was a frantic plea and Katara stopped and turned her head slightly to the left, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

Zuko squirmed until he was pressed against the cage, arms outstretched through the bars. He hissed as his forearms crashed against nearly-frozen metal, shivering. His fingers longed for the fuzzy blanket still notched in the crook of her arm. Noticing, Katara threw it to him before stomping up the steps. He rapidly covered himself, draping the fabric over his shoulders and squishing it closed with two trembling hands.

"Thanks."

Continuing up the steps, she waved lazily at him, water spiraling around her hand. "Goodnight  _Prince_ Zuko."

She heard him lurch forward, pound on the bars. "Hey! Hey!" Once again, he was trying to get her attention. "What's your name—what do I call you?"

Katara poked her head around the corner, leering. "Beast," she snapped.

* * *

**OoOoO**

* * *

His hands were bloody. A sizzling, sticky mess. But he was almost out of the chasm. He just needed one final push and he grappled with the edge, melting the side of the cliff until he created a proper hold. Sheer will was keeping him going; sheer luck was keeping him alive. And when he finally broke the surface, he rolled to his back and stared at the cloudless, moon-filled sky, breathless and exhausted.

The stars shone bright above him, glistening specks that seemed more alive in the South than in the Fire Nation, alarmingly mesmerizing and questionably untouchable. Like a million cerulean irises he longed to capture.

He let out a heated breath, clasping his hands together against his lips. Blowing hot air until he could finally peel his frozen fingers apart.

"Just you wait, Beasty," Zhao whispered with a shiver, sitting upright and sliding the pack off his back. "You'll be mine, soon."


	8. The Agreement

 In the pantry: three potatoes, one onion, a handful of apricots, and a rucksack bursting with radishes.

Crumbles of pie crust on the floor. An apple, bruised and rejected—left behind. A few rolls of bandages and vials of medicine, now in disarray within their air-tight containers. Burn ointment specially imported from the Fire Nation, missing. A stolen knapsack to carry it all.

Though her pantry was pilfered—goods strewn throughout her small dwelling—Kanna sat on her favorite dining room chair, weathered lips framed around a soft smile and irises focused on the full bag of radishes. Tears prickled the corners of her eyes. And when her vision turned too blurry to see properly, she rubbed at her face until they were gone.

Her granddaughter never liked radishes, even as a babe.

Eyes that had seen too much blinked. Tears flowed free. A shaky voice followed, small and bewildered, containing long-diminished hope, reawakened, "Katara's alive."

_Knock, knock, knock._

The door cracked open and Kanna rubbed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose so she could feign exhaustion. A familiar form settled in the chair opposite her, his fingers laced together on the tabletop.

She looked at Bato's worn face, studied his haggard expression. The ornaments in his hair  _clinked_ as he shifted, sparkled as his head dipped. Though he appeared regal and adorned, he looked anything but. Torn, more like. Torn between his duty and person; torn between vengeance and grief.

"This is always a depressing time of the year," Kanna agreed, her voice filled with motherly comfort for the best friend of her long-deceased, cherished son, for the man she dared say burgeoned into her  _second_  son.

He winced and looked away. "It's the waiting that's depressing," he said. "Every day is a like a cruel game. Every day, I hope one of those men returns with the slain carcass of that beast across his shoulders. And sitting here makes me nervous—frustrates me."

Kanna reached forward, cupped his clenched hands. "I know, dearest. I know."

"I still hear their screams, Kanna."

"I know."

"I still see their bloodied remains." He slumped forward, put his head in his hands, stroked his forehead with his thumbs. "We couldn't even piece them together. We couldn't figure out what was Hakoda, Sokka, or Katara—couldn't even differentiate their scattered remains to give them a proper funeral." He looked up, eyes watering. "After ten years of tireless exploits, you'd have thought that  _one_ of those idiots would've been successful." Anger radiated from his posture and he blinked back tears. "But no, each year…we find more and more dead hunters. Each year, they all  _fail._ "

_Smash!_

His fist hit the table. "I want that beast  _dead._ "

Kanna shifted uncomfortably, glanced at the unnoticed mess in her apartment. Her gaze rested on the bag of radishes and she nibbled her worn bottom lip, contemplating something she hadn't considered before seeing the mess in her apartment, seeing that unopened, rejected bag of her granddaughter's least favorite food.

For a moment, she pondered.

Katara was alive; she was somewhere—in the tundra, the abandoned palace, concealed beneath the frozen surface—somewhere _alive,_ albeit hidden. And there was a reason she was hiding, a reason she hadn't visited or tried to communicate before now.

Kanna released her lip, focused her brow. Katara was out there fighting— _surviving_ —eluding, annihilating, and persevering. And she knew she had to help her granddaughter, help her only living relative. Her messy little water fountain. Even if she didn't know  _how_ Katara was alive,  _why_ she remained alone.

"Maybe…it's time to move on." She felt Bato stiffen. "Maybe it's time to lay my son's, grandson's, and…granddaughter's memories to rest."

"Excuse me?"

"Sending all of these men out…year after year…what have we gained?"

He gripped his forehead harder, and looked up, eyes filled with tears. "Nothing." He blinked. "But the people—"

"Will follow their leader."

"The people want justice—want vengeance for their fallen brethren. Want retribution for their slain chief."

"It's been ten years, Bato. How many people even remember  _why_ we started the hunt? How many people remember—" She sighed. "How many people remember a chief before you—a  _time_ before you? Ten years is a long, long time." A sad blink. "The people have forgotten my son. The people have forgotten my grandchildren. And maybe it's time…we did, too."

"I will  _never_ forget my best friend—"

"I'm not asking you to—"

"I will  _never_ forget my godchildren—"

"I'm not asking you to—"

"Then what  _are_  you asking, Kanna?" Bato snapped.

"Peace," she whispered. "Acceptance and hope. A chance for our future generations." Bato's gaze was cold, but he was listening, as he always did. "It's time we ended the hunt…time we left the beast be. It's taken too much from us—from the world."

Bato sighed and shook his head. His posture suggested displeasure, but she knew he'd make the right choice. He was a great chief, a well-trained second-in-command, but a war-hardened warrior who grew into his unwanted title. He had made tougher decisions in years' past. "For you," he said, catching her withered, blue eyes, "for Hakoda, Sokka, and Katara…this will be…the last year." He stood and turned to leave. "I just hope that somebody— _anybody—_ is successful this year." He rubbed the back of his head, tightened his wolf-tail. "I just wanted closure, Kanna. Answers."

Kanna nodded as her chief left. And when the door snapped shut, she looked at the mess strewn throughout her apartment and exhaled. "Katara, my messy little water fountain," she bowed her head, prayed to the Ocean and Moon Spirits, "be safe, be smart—be strong."

* * *

**OoOoO**

* * *

The full moon disappeared and the prison grew dark and frightening. Only a number of vile shadows remained, silent and deadly company, whispering foul things as they scurried from corner to crevice. Untrustworthy and eerie. Liars, all of them.

While the shadows flitted, the smell of rot spread. Moldy potatoes and onions wafted into Zuko's cell, and the stagnant air grew steadily filthy, disgusting. To fight the scent, Zuko shimmied underneath his blanket and pressed his nose against the fur lining of his shredded parka. The bold-bodied, metallic scent of blood filled his nostrils and he snorted, dispelling the vile aroma. He closed his eyes—darkness within the black of day—and settled. Puffs of frost escaped his lips and he sluggishly slipped away, vehemently overtaken by slumber.

When he could sleep, he dreamed of light—of warming embers and soothing embraces, children laughing and familial love. A twinkle of orange and yellow within crackling flames, his favorite colors swirled together as they soared skyward into the welcoming breeze. Of delicacies like roasted lemon-spiced hen and peppered fire flakes, food served by his mother that had always elicited happiness and birthed joyous memories.

But while imprisoned, he knew he wouldn't receive such kindness. No, he would receive nothing but an endless night. Darkness. For as long as she wished to hold him captive.

The sunless day passed overhead, offering fitful sleep while he tossed and turned, occasionally waking when he heard boots scuffing against flagstone. And though his eyes opened, he was greeted with nothing but gloom. Emptiness and shadows, like his lids were still clenched shut.

A hiss and a shiver, crippling—debilitating.

The floor was cold, but if he curled up just right, his internal heat spread throughout his body—even through his toes, which he wiggled every so often to make sure they were still there. And when he finally found a blissful comfort—no longer squirming as he searched for heat—he drifted deeper, unconsciously more fitful, frustrating.

Occasionally, he trembled, teeth chattering and lips parting, hissing out an awful sigh. Until a familiar crackle made him bolt upright.

_Pop. Pop. Snap!_

Orange light flickered, banishing shadows to the far corners of his prison. And for the first time in a long while, Zuko smiled.

* * *

**OoOoO**

* * *

Katara's clothes were soiled, covered in rusty-colored splotches that were starting to harden, impeding her unusually fluid movements. So she lifted her parka and shirt over her head and bundled them up. Threw them into a hamper where she  _might_ remember to mend the holes and wash the grime off after summer was over, when she was human for more than three consecutive nights.

She shook her head, combed through her unruly tresses with her fingers. And then braided her hair until it curled around her shoulders, tail falling elegantly over her left clavicle. Hands trailed over her exposed arms, scratching away dried blood—remnants of her own injuries, still untreated.

A groan and an eye roll. She was exhausted, thoroughly fatigued and ready for a decent day's sleep. But her wounds screamed for attention, demanded immediate treatment or a decent washing.

Another groan. And then she sauntered to her chest, pulled it open with a sharp  _snap_ , and rummaged until she hit the wooden bottom. Soap, a clean set of clothes, a fluffy towel; items filled her arms and she disappeared into the dwindle-lighted abyss of her abandoned home. Down the stairs and toward her old room, bare feet scraping against the old flagstones, shuffling languidly as she descended. Her footsteps were uneasy—almost unwilling to continue—moving slow enough to be passed by elderly penguin-otters who waddled lifelessly into the tundra, awaiting the sweet comfort of their final days.

Katara didn't want to keep going, but the growing smell of fresh blood clouded her senses and she knew her wounds needed to be cleaned before healing them, lest they fester and rot. The earthen spikes that had penetrated her flesh were undoubtedly infectious, bursting with bacteria, which meant that she needed to scrub—and scrub hard—to avoid a more serious issue, like the mess she had just seen and smelled on her prisoner's marred face.

Another set of steps, a left turn, and she was where she needed to be—a single footstep away from her old bedroom door. Back straightening, eyes forward and unblinking, her baby blues slowly adjusted to the dimly lit hallway, picking out faint rays of the twisted light engulfing the end of the passage with an unusual red hue. Her warped mahogany door with its rusted doorknob shone brightly within the darkness, looking warm and inviting, beckoning her inside. And after a quick twist, she opened the door and entered.

Her old room was broken and disorganized, pieces of furniture overturned or destroyed, clawed or mangled, bitten and crushed. Not looking, she swept by each item, steadfastly ignoring the dusty tapestries on the wall, the oil painting of her family, whole and happy, the unmade bed covered with a mixture of soft brown and coarse white bristles, the shredded clothes piled unceremoniously in every corner, and the lone piece of jewelry, placed mockingly on a table, its triple-orbed, blue-stoned polish faintly glowing, even in the dark.

A brief glance at the necklace and a snort. And then into the bathroom, which was less chaotic, less traumatic.

There was a faucet that worked if she hit it just right, bringing up freshwater from a pocket hidden deep beneath the South's surface. The liquid was barely above freezing, and though Katara always braced for it, it was still hard to adequately prepare for the sheer nip that trembled through her skin upon contact.

Her hand delved into the stream and a hiss poured from her lips. The water was colder than usual, significantly harsher. And it felt like her skin was submerged in a strange, wintery fire, slightly tingly and uncomfortable. So she washed quickly, dousing her wounds until fresh tendrils of blood started to seep out.

Belatedly, she wrapped her hands with her bending; frosted liquid glowed silvery-white as it curled around her numerous wounds, seeping into destroyed skin, soothing broken flesh. Gashes knit together, bruises turned sickly yellow before disappearing, and blood pumped through a watery barrier in her arteries until purged clean. With a silky, exhausted breath, she leaned over the basin, blinking blearily until she scrubbed her face and stared at her pained reflection in the shimmering pool below.

Ocean-blue eyes focused, rippling and strained, bloodshot and fatigued. Weary with age and a myriad of sleepless nights. A foul wrinkle across her brow as she squinted at her liquefied mirror, eyebrows furrowing while visions danced in her bathwater. A blink and her head dipped, expression thoughtful as she watched. The past few hours swirled in the depths of the pool, memories crashing through her all at once as they clouded the soapy water. Wisps took form and churned. Thumbs dangled and encouraged the movement, twitching the bubbles until they took masterful shape.

A battle. A swordsman and a firebender dueling as an intrigued figure watched from the sidelines. The clang of slashing swords, the sizzle of hungry flames. Grunts of agony, the scent of burnt flesh. A wail and a bodily collapse. The crack of ice and an echoing scream. A splash. Contemplative silence and a decision.

Snow flurries and a tireless trek through the snow; an icy sledge driven with the wave of somnolent arms, pushing, pushing, pushing until they could spin no more. A hazardous climb. The thump of a body hitting stone and a murmured apology.

A healing session wrought with surprises. Ripped cloth and fumbling fingers mending wounds and cleaning flesh, purifying skin until it prickled with pinkish hues. Screeching bars and a clicking lock.

Enraged shouts, snarled anguish. An utterance of thanks—a marveled welcome. A glimmer of hope and an unveiled truth. Heartbreaking and aggravating. Spat words. Guilt.

Another blink and the bubbles dissolved. Gone, gone, gone. Like her hope.

Teeth clenched.

Hope was fickle, long lost; not something to live for.

A frown.

Not anymore.

Not when  _he_ was in her cellar, tainting her home with his horrid desires, sullying her mind with strange distractions. Not when he wanted to detain her bestial form, imprison or maim her beyond repair, claim a suspected reward for her incarceration or demise.

Irate, she smacked the basin, splashing water onto the floor, dousing it with glistening speckles.

Why couldn't he see it? Why couldn't  _anybody_ see it?

The curse wasn't her fault. And after carrying her burden for so long—after ten brutal years—she thought that somebody would've figured it out. Gran Gran, Bato— _anybody._ But nobody had. Nobody had even  _tried._ No, any human being she had encountered chucked weapons in her general direction, intent on ending her life. And she  _refused_ to give them the satisfaction. Refused to show them how much every single attempt weakened her spirit, wrecked her hope, tried her faith in humanity.

But knowing Zuko's true intentions...hurt. Hurt more than a knife in her shoulder, a slash across her arm, or a broken leg. His declaration debilitated her in an unexpected way, a  _human_ way. She really wanted him to be different, to be concerned for her— _her_ her. Not the beast lingering within her soul, a wolfish form cursed and bound to her forever.

For the first time in ten brutal years, she thought she had encountered somebody who could understand her plight. Perhaps help break her curse, given time. He had paused—he had lowered his blades and raised them against a more aggressive target. He was different— _he was different._ But she was wrong. So, so wrong. He wasn't any different than the decade's worth of hunters that had preceded him.

_Let her go!_

_Because he had my target._

A sigh, lonesome and sad. Devastating. And she pulled the stopper. The sink drained; loud gurgles as the water receded. And when it was gone, there was silence. A sickening nothingness quickly filled with a shaky exhale and ruffled fabric.

* * *

**OoOoO**

* * *

The further she descended, the louder the curious noise grew.

Katara paused and placed her hand against the chilled wall before continuing down the flagstone stairs, head turned so she could hear the steadily-growing sound from below.

_Clack-clack-clack—Shhhhhh—Uhuhuhuhuh—Shhhhhh—Clack-clack-clack._

She stopped at the last step, poked her head around the corner so she could peer into the darkness—watch her prisoner, undetected.

Hidden in the shadows of his makeshift prison, Zuko's blackened silhouette shivered and quaked, blankets rustling as he wriggled and squirmed into a more comfortable position. And when he finally settled, the noise quieted for a moment, and then continued after a shrill hiss, a sharp exhale, and a glow of orange-red embers emanating from behind his teeth.

Katara smirked.

Chattering teeth. Anxious inhales. Obnoxious exhales filled with desperate bending attempts.

Her prisoner was cold—freezing.

And she choked back an amused snort and sat on the bottommost step, listening to his anguish, drinking in the sound of his shivers.

He took in a raspy breath, desperate for a smidgen of warm air. And when he found none, he hissed and trembled, quaked against the frozen floor. His shivers were so intense—so loud—she thought the icy walls were shattering. Cracking and chipping away as they had in years past, back when the palace had been heated and happy, filled with laughter and joyous parties, ballrooms bursting with people from faraway places—nomads and Northerners, Earth Kingdom royalty and Southern peasants.

But thankfully, the walls were still solid, still encased in a thick layer of silvery-blue ice. And Katara let out a shaky breath of her own, perturbed by her strange, contented mood. She didn't usually find joy in other peoples' suffering, and a chill poured through her blood, pulsated inside her marrow, made her nervous and nauseous, annoyed and strangely sad.

Abruptly, she stood and turned, taking the stairs three at a time, ascending with a dedicated purpose, fists tightly clenched at her sides.

Zuko's chattering was aggravating—annoying. And she wanted the noise to stop, lest she grow steadily insane, unable to tolerate his company.

She paused.  _His company?_

And then she stomped through the hallways of the palace, searching with a violent fervor. Snapping open doors and rummaging through disorganized closets. Huffing loudly as her twiddling fingers traced the unfamiliar outline of a wooden box, something she hadn't needed to seek out since being cursed.

The box creaked as it opened, rusted hinges squealing in the dank, dark hallway. And Katara smirked as she gripped the wooden stick resting delicately inside. She sniffed the end and gagged, rubbed her nose until the sour smell of pitch and tar faded away. And when her eyes stopped watering, she retreated. Down, down, down she went, stepping lightly so she could hear the increasingly annoying sounds of shivering and chattering teeth.

At the bottommost stair, she whirled and entered the cellar atrium, stooping low against the nearest wall so her head wouldn't hit the item she was searching for. Her free hand was up, reaching, prodding, and poking in all directions, feeling for a metal holder, a decaying sconce.

_Click._

A fingernail lightly brushed the iron and she smirked, lifted the unlit torch above her head and into the bracket. When it was finally set in place, she stood on her tiptoes and pressed her body against the wall, searching for two green-hued and slightly jagged rocks.

_Click—click._

Spark rocks pressed tight between her hands, she cracked them together— _Smash!—_ birthing a small spark, a single ember. But it did nothing other than disappear into the darkness.  _Poof._

So Katara tried again. And again.

_Smash! Smash!_ And then a  _whoosh!_

The pitch caught fire, blazed fiercely against the stone wall, sending hungry, yellow light in all directions, illuminating every dim corner, every dreary wall. And after it flickered brightly— _Snap, snap! Pop, pop!—_ she heard her prisoner rouse, chattering and trembling less and less as consciousness flooded his senses.

When his blanket furled out and away, Katara ducked beneath the torch and pressed her back against the wall, blue eyes carefully examining his every movement, hands laced behind her back as she cautiously pulled a tendril of frozen ice from the wall. She appeared calm and confident. Almost smug.

And though she expected him to see her first—perhaps comment on her smirk or question why she was there—he didn't. His gold-tinted gaze affixed itself to the flames above her head, mesmerized. Focused and captivated. Entranced. Like he was experiencing fire for the first time in weeks—like it didn't live inside him, waiting to be called forth whenever he wanted.

Katara watched him wearily, wondering if giving him a source of bendable material was a sane thing to do. But after thinking about it—after noticing how he sat perfectly still, watching the flickering flames, simply breathing instead of reaching for them—she realized that firebenders and waterbenders didn't bend the same way. Fire came from within—from the breath (if her tutors from over a decade ago were correct). It didn't need a source, probably wasn't the proper way to firebend.

It was so different from waterbending, which needed a pool, a tear, sweat, the ocean, a  _liquid_ in order to work. Waterbending didn't originate from the breath—didn't come from within. It was a feeling.  _Push and pull._ A movement.  _Tui and La._ Balance.  _Harmony._

_Pop, pop! Snap!_

Katara watched her prisoner smile, watched a whimsical expression flood his face; something childlike and calm, warm and strangely endearing. Dreamy and wistful.

And she found it more annoying than his chattering. So she snorted, which ruined his reverie.

* * *

**OoOoO**

* * *

Zuko's gaze immediately flitted to the girl sitting beneath the flames. There was a smirk on her face, something unfriendly and filled with silent gloating, cocky. And he turned his head away from her, pressed his naked side against the chilly bars of his makeshift cell. He inhaled, slow and smooth, just like Uncle had taught him.

And the fire felt good as it flickered against the good side of his face—the unmarred side. The little surges of heat felt refreshing against his skin, even from so far away. He took another deep breath, breathed in the warmth, breathed in the life, and leaned against the bars so he could get closer.

"You're cold." Her voice came out raspy and smug. It wasn't a question, it was an observation, a scrutiny.

A  _correct_ scrutiny, which he hated her for. Yes, he  _was_ cold. Had been cold ever since he left Fire Nation waters. Had been cold since he disembarked from his pitiful cruiser—graciously lent to him by his  _merciful_  father. Had been cold since he left the South's hunting tent, where he had his last decent meal. Had been cold since he wandered off into the tundra by himself, with nothing other than his stark imagination for company. Had been cold since he was stripped of his parka and woolen pants, given a thin blanket to fight the frosty chill in a frozen prison cell.

So he responded the best way he could. "Yeah, and?" He snorted. "Don't beasts like you get cold?"

Her blue eyes narrowed and shadows slipped across her face as the fire crackled above her head. "No, we don't."

Another snort, and a short guffaw. "Must be nice," he said.

Silence. And then, "Not really."

Her retort was startlingly soft, sad. And Zuko stared at her, watched how her chin dipped toward her chest, watched how her knees pulled close, pressed snug against her torso. Watched how her arms wrapped around her legs, hugged them tight. She looked forlorn and dejected, pathetic and abandoned—very unbeastly. And her antics—her fiery gift—was almost human, almost liked she cared. So unlike the treatment he expected. So unlike the care he deserved.

Time and time again, the South's beast proved more and more curious. More and more unlike the stories he had been told.  _Different._ Unexpectedly different. So he blinked and pressed his lips taut, practiced his gratitude before he spoke the word aloud. "Thanks."

She looked up, curiously confused. And for a moment, they gazed at each other—bestial girl and banished prince—blue and gold studying the other through a line of mesh iron.

"For what?"

He nudged his chin skyward and reached for his dejected blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders. "The fire."

She glanced up, squinted at the smoldering burst above. And then she returned her gaze to him, face blank, response clipped, pointed. "I could hear you shivering from two floors away. It was annoying and I thought it would shut you up."

He clenched his lips and held back a vile retort, something undoubtedly unkind and hurtful, which wouldn't benefit him in the least. He grit his teeth, sneered out his words. "I wouldn't be so cold if I had my clothes."

He watched her jaw and fists scrunch, cheekbones and knuckles whiten. "I was nice enough to get you a blanket. Be grateful for what you have."

"Not enough," he said, almost frantic, near pleading. He hid his desperation with a shiver. "I'm a  _fire_ bender. I need heat—warmth." Light shone throughout the room and he found his backpack. He pointed to it with a shaking finger. "My bag. I have a spare set of clothes in my bag."

She glanced at his bag and turned away, eyes dangerously glassy, evaluating his motivations. "Firebenders draw heat from within. If you get warm, you become more dangerous—more of a threat. If I give you those clothes, if I give you  _anything_ that will raise your internal body temperature, you could try to escape."

"I could, but won't."

A blue-tinted glare and a snort. "Won't, huh? And why not?"

"Because you're here."

"Uh-huh. And if I give you  _clothes,_ what'll stop you from attacking me when my back is turned? From potentially overpowering me and dragging me  _out there_?"

Zuko considered her query and straightened. He looked regal and intimidating, if only for a moment. "I wouldn't do that. It wouldn't…it wouldn't be fair. Or honorable."

"Pshh," she scoffed. "And what do  _you_  know of  _honor_?"

He bristled and looked away. "I won't attack you. I promise."

"You'll bolt the moment you're free. And you know it."

"No," Zuko urged, crossing his arms. "I'll stay." He shifted and clenched his fists, clutched his biceps as he bargained. "You're here, so I'll stay here. And I'll, uh, stay here until you're ready."

"Ready?" she snapped. "Ready for what?"

"To fight me."

Her eyes widened and then narrowed. "It wouldn't be much of a fight. You'd lose. Horribly."

"Then you have nothing to worry about."

She didn't squirm, didn't break her focus. And he stared right back, memorizing the liquidity of her eyes. Sparkling irises, never-ending pools of swirling blue. Captivating. Much like the fire still flickering brightly above her head.

"You're cocky," she said. He smirked. "I don't like that." He frowned. "And I don't trust you."

His frown deepened, stretched awkwardly across his face. "A man's only as good as his word," he whispered. "And I know you don't know me—can't trust me. But I promise that I won't attack you until you're ready—until we're both facing each other in an arena."

"You'll die. You won't last two seconds against—"

"I promised my uncle that I would come home—I gave him my  _word._  And I  _will_ defeat you in honorable combat. It might take a few days—it might take a few weeks, but I  _will_ return to my country by the end of summer."

"You're ridiculous." She stood and brushed grime off her backside, patted her knees and put her hands on her hips. "I know your type. The moment I give you what you want is the moment you try to overpower me—try to thwart me however you can." She stepped toward the bars—"Deception,"—within his reach—"traps,"—testing him—" _whatever_ you can think of,"—so, so close. "But let me tell  _you_ something, Prince Zuko." Another step and she knelt, fingers wrapped around the bars, centimeters from his hands. "You won't win. Nobody's beaten me in a decade. You aren't  _lucky_ enough to best me, so you'd better give up now."

Zuko stiffened and fought the urge to reach through the bars, crush her wrist and drag her forward, show her how easy it could be to break something so frail, so thin—to  _beat_ her. It wouldn't take much effort, just a quick snap, just a small twist. But he didn't have the strength, didn't have the stamina to move quick enough.

So he exhaled and looked away, didn't move. Didn't give her the satisfaction of falling into her trap. "I won't give up. I  _never_ give up."

It took a while, but she released the bars. She didn't move backward, though. Instead, she crossed her arms and glared at him, watched him inhale a shaky, uncoordinated breath. And then his stomach growled. "What have you been eating?"

"Rations," he answered grudgingly. "A mixture of nuts and berries—some sort of trail mix, I think. The tiger-seal you  _stole—"_ She frowned. "—from me was nearly inedible. So, not much else."

"How often?"

Zuko regarded her shadowed silhouette. She was standing slightly left of the sconce, arms fixed stubbornly across her chest, an odd look on her face. Something maternal and bizarre; something he hadn't seen in years. "Once a day…maybe? It's hard to tell when I can't see the moon…or the sun."

She tutted. "You don't have enough fat in your diet. All you're eating is protein and sugars. And you're not eating often enough. No wonder you're so cold."

She huffed, ran and hand through her hair, and walked back upstairs, leaving Zuko alone to bask in the fiery blaze, breathe in the steady warmth, and watch his favorite colors flit across the wall, a confused expression plastered on his face.

* * *

**OoOoO**

* * *

Her prisoner was weird. Prince Zuko was  _weird._  And stupid.

Though nobody had ever talked to her—didn't really get the chance to do anything more than scream or mutter their final few words—she doubted anybody would say anything about a man being  _as good as his word_  or offer her a chance at  _honorable combat_. No, her prisoner was weird and stupid; weirder than King Bumi and his monstrous rabbit when he showed up for her sixteenth winter. Weirder than Sokka's successful attempt at wooing Princess Yue—who saw  _that_ coming? And stupider than that one airbending kid who continuously bothered her with his marble trick.

So...maybe if she...?

She let out a troubled exhale when she reached her cavern. And then she started digging through the supplies she stole from her Gran Gran's pantry, searching frantically for sea prunes and seaweed blubber, sustenance with high fat content, food that would keep Zuko marginally warmer. And when she found the vegetables she was looking for, she piled them in her arms and retreated, padded softly downstairs.

She was…going to regret this. She knew she would. But Zuko was…odd. Odd enough for her to do something incredibly stupid, incredibly un-Katara-y. And if he wanted to fight, she wasn't going to tell him  _no._ Not when he seemed so eager to die.

"Eat this." She chucked a sea prune through the bars.

The prune slipped from his shaking fingers, bounced on the floor, and lolled around, wobbling because of its lopsided form. And when it stilled, Zuko reached for it—gripped it tenderly. He inspected the oddly-shaped vegetation and pushed it through the bars. "I don't want this…whatever it is."

"It's a sea prune. It's good for you."

"It looks like my grandfather's nose. I'll pass."

"It's filled with fat. It'll keep you warm."

"This wrinkled excuse of a vegetable will  _not_ keep me warm. Clothes will, though." He pointed to his backpack, still gripping the prune. "And they're right over there."

Katara shook her head. "If you won't eat the prune, you're gonna eat this." She held up a strip of brownish-green paper pocked with off-white circles.

"Ugh! What is  _that_?"

"Seaweed blubber. It's—"

"Disgusting looking."

A thin-lipped frown. "It's not disgusting. Well, I mean…it  _is_ , but it'll keep you warm, too." She held it out, fingers carefully splayed to support the flimsy, flattened flora.

Her prisoner didn't reach for it, didn't even bother to wipe the appalled expression from his face. "Pass."

"You want to fight me, right?" she asked, smug.

"Yeah. And?"

"Well, you've been out in the tundra for a few weeks, living off frozen nuts and berries and whatever else you managed to find. If you have  _any_ sense, you'll take the food I'm offering you,  _no matter_ how it looks.  _No matter_ how it tastes."

"And why's that?"

"Because each meal I give you—each table scrap I send your way—is another day I plan on keeping you alive."

Zuko eyed the prune in his hands, rolled it across his palm like he suddenly understood. "Are you...accepting my offer?

"You asked for a fair and honorable fight. And I can respect that." She folded her arms across her chest. "So I'll give you a month to regain your strength. A month to figure out how to beat me."

"By the next full moon?"

Katara smirked and nodded. And then she reached for the cell door, metal key lodged inside her fist.  _Click! Screech!_ And the iron mesh shuddered inward.

"And you're letting me out?" he asked, incredulous.

"Do you  _want_ to stay in the cell?" He shook his head. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

"But…why?"

She didn't bother answering him. Instead, she stepped aside, allowed him to collect his bag and hastily dress, grab his boots and collect his daggers. And then she hesitantly led him upstairs, fluttering torch in hand. She kept her ears attuned for the swoosh of an unsheathed weapon. And when no sound pierced the air, she gestured outward. "This palace is your temporary home, now. So you're free to go wherever you'd like...except the ballroom."

"What's in the ballroom?"

She turned, glaring, furling out a wicked tendril of razor-sharp, hidden ice, which forced Zuko backward. "It's  _forbidden._ "

* * *

**I have an apology to make. This chapter was supposed to post in June, before I went on my 3-week, RV vacation across the USA (which I highly recommend, by the way). Somehow, though, things went horribly, horribly wrong and it didn't post the update--didn't even save the flipping draft. Which means it went _poof_ until I got back. I'm so, so, so, so sorry. I don't know how it happened. Please forgive my computer malfunction!**

**_Anywho_ , here is the original A/N...**

**It's been a while. Sorry about that, but I had another dream about this story and had to revamp my outline. While reorganizing, I started a new fic called _Just Us_. It's a good little fic; should be significantly shorter than BItB. Also, it's revenge Zutara... _Katara revenge Zutara._  Did that catch your interest? I hope so. And if it did, take a look, I'm sure you'll like it.**

**Well, please let me know how you liked the update. And a special _thank you_ to the people who have reviewed. Seeing your reviews gives me happy, squirmy tummy gurgles and I  _love it._ So, see y'all next time! :)**


End file.
